


Cesium-133

by NotHereNJ (efficaceous)



Category: Shameless (US), TiMER (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - TiMER Fusion, Angst and Feels, EMT Ian Gallagher, F/F, F/M, Gallavich Endgame, M/M, Musician Mickey Milkovich, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, lots of short chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 38,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efficaceous/pseuds/NotHereNJ
Summary: The path to love, even with TiMERs to show you when you find it, never runs smoothly. How will Ian Gallagher, anxious EMT and hopeless romantic, find his One?Cesium atomic clocks are the most accurate time and frequency standards, and serve as the primary standard for the definition of the second in the International System of Units (SI) (the metric system). (Wikipedia)
Relationships: Caleb/Ian Gallagher, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 130
Kudos: 154





	1. Prologue: Zeroing Out

Ian stood in the crowded square, looking around anxiously. He glanced down at his wrist, saw he had a few scant seconds left. His green eyes scanned the crowd, looking to see who was, potentially, his soul-mate.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. 

_ It’ll be fine. It’s fate, and fate doesn’t make mistakes. _

The sound that every adult over the age of four knew instinctively began to tinkle from his wrist, and Ian opened his eyes. A moment after, he heard the matching ring from somewhere ahead of him, only much, **much** louder. The jingle was so loud he thought he could hear it echoing off the buildings behind him.

_ Wasn’t it supposed to be simultaneous _ , he wondered? 

Before Ian could investigate that thought fully, a tall, handsome Black man strode through the crowd, coming to stand inches from Ian. The man reached out a smooth hand to cup Ian’s jaw. Instinctively, Ian wanted to pull back, away from the overly familiar touch, but he steeled himself, stayed put. This man- this was his soulmate. His One. 

“Baby,” the man’s voice was smooth, too, almost practiced, “I was hoping it would be you. Saw you, that  _ hair _ , wow, and I thought, I hope it’s him.” He flashed Ian a broad, glowing smile and ducked his head.

This man was clearly used to being the most attractive person in the room. Ian once knew how that felt, the easy self-assurance. Now all he felt was mild consternation. The man was attractive, sure, but why didn’t Ian feel that instant connection everyone talked about? Where were the sparks when they touched for the first time? He brushed his worries away, and pulled up a convincing smile.

“I’m Ian. I guess I’m your One.”

“Hi Ian, my name’s Caleb.”

* * *

Neither Ian nor Caleb noticed the devastated looking dark-haired man many feet behind them, staring in shock at his wrist and then back at the new couple. 


	2. 916 D, 16 H, 23 M, 01 S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six Months Earlier.

**_(Six Months Earlier)_ **

Ian stood on the street, tapping his fingers nervously against his leg. It was fine that Ryan was late. Probably even funny, to the right person. It didn’t mean anything. He checked the watch on his left wrist. 11:11. Eleven minutes late. Superstitiously, Ian made a quick wish. 

_ Please, let me find him. _

A red sports car pulled up to the curb and parked, discharging Ian’s boyfriend of one month. Ryan was a little sweaty, but Ian plastered on a bright smile and leaned in for a quick hug. 

“So, we’re really doing this?” 

“Ryan, you like me, right?” Ian's tone was matter-of-fact and practical.

“Sure, Ian. You’re super hot, and like, a hero, with that ambulance. It’s just that I-”

Ian cut him off. “-and I think you’re pretty neat, too. But what’s the point in continuing without a guarantee?”

Ryan was nodding, jerking his head up and down, but his eyes were scanning the sidewalk around them. Nerves, that was all, Ian told himself, so he grabbed Ryan’s hand, dragging him into the red and white shop front. 

The store looked a little like a cell phone vendor, lots of open space and informational displays. Ian bypassed all of those, walking directly to the counter, pulling Ryan behind him. 

“Ian Gallagher! Haven’t seen you in a few months, any progress with the old Blankety Blank?” The chipper female employee pointed to Ian’s frustratingly blank TiMER on his right wrist.

“Not yet,” he replied tightly with a little smile. “But this is Ryan.”

Ryan gave the woman a little wave before turning to whisper into Ian’s shoulder. “She knows you? How many guys have you brought here?”

Ian schooled his features into a polite configuration. “Well, I bet on the wrong horse a few times. It’s her job to remember customers, make connections, she’s just good at it, that’s all.” He didn’t add the exact number, which his anxious brain helpfully supplied: seven. He’d brought seven TiMER-less men into this very store, hoping that the magic would happen, and being disappointed every time. 

Before he could get stuck in a loop of perseveration and self-blame, the woman led them into a back room, where she indicated Ryan could lay down on the medical-type bed. She requested and received his photo ID and a credit card.

As she processed the payment, she made the obligatory small talk, “So how long have you two been dating?”

Seeing that Ryan looked overwhelmed, pale and sweaty, Ian answered. “About a month.” He smiled reassuringly down at Ryan, reaching out to take his hand and squeeze it.

“Ok, Ryan Lewis Rafferty, how’d you get this far in life without a TiMER?”

Ryan looked at Ian, as if he held the answer, but Ian squeezed his hand again encouragingly. “Uh, I’m from Oklahoma.”

The employee looked at him then, nodding understandingly. “Say no more, can’t imagine it was easy being gay in Oklahoma.”

Before Ryan could reply, she began her sales spiel. Ian had tried to cut her off in the past, but he knew it was pointless: she was obligated to try and upsell them, so he just sat and waited, trying to at least look patient, even if he felt a buzzing energy all over his skin. That was good, right? Maybe it was a sign that this time would be different. 

He’d zoned out, and as he came back to the conversation, the employee was handing Ryan the Terms of Use document to sign as she glossed over the dangers. 

“... and you could even die.”

“Wait,  _ what _ ?” Panic was wide in Ryan’s eyes.

“That’s like, super rare, Ry,” Ian consoled.

“Or if you don’t like your soulmate.” The woman continued.

“Aren’t I guaranteed to like my One? Isn’t that the whole point?”

Glancing first at Ian, the female employee explained carefully, “No, not necessarily, not at first. There are many pathways to true love. There’s love at first sight, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, and so many more. The TiMER just tells you the very moment your soulmate enters your life, the rest will evolve naturally.” She smiled, Ian smiled, and even Ryan managed a watery smile.

“Will- will it hurt?”

The employee met Ryan’s stare and nodded, “Yes, it will hurt, but only briefly. Then, after implantation, if the two of you are meant to be,  then both of your TiMERs at the very same time go: Deedle Le Dee! Deedle Le Dee! Deedle Le Dee! Ready?”

Ian steeled himself, taking in and holding a deep breath as he watched the device the woman held.

“Oh, Ian, If you wanna zero out with your man, you gotta make some eye contact!”

“Oh, ok,” Ian was flustered, he knew that, and he resettled himself on the small stool and looked down at Ryan, still holding the smile on his face.

“Ow, fuck!”

“And that’s it- all done!”

All three stooped to watch the newly implanted TiMER on Ryan’s wrist.

The little wheels spun and then resolved into numbers: 916 days, 16 hours, 23 m, 01 seconds. The numbers blinked, becoming 916 days, 16 hours, 23 m, 00 seconds, then 916 days, 16 hours, 22 m, 59 seconds. 

“Two and a half years,” the employee announced pointlessly. 

Through force of habit, Ian looked at his own right wrist, where his blank TiMER mocked him.

“I’ll just let you two… be here for a minute. Come on out whenever you’re ready.” The woman left them alone in the small procedure room.

“It’s fine,” Ian began, voice toneless, “It’s so fine, really, I am really happy for you.”

Ryan frowned. “This right here, this is why I didn't want to even come here.”

“It’s fine,” Ian repeatedly mindlessly.

“In two years I’ll be done with my PhD, maybe I’ll even have tenure. Maybe he’ll be another professor, or someone from the yacht club or.…” Ryan noticed Ian had tuned out and was shut down. “Hey, two years is a long time, maybe we could still… you know, meet up?”

“I don’t think so. No point, right?” Ian shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, congrats, I’m fine, it’s so super, I have to get back to work.” 

He put one hand out, hoping for a quick shake so he could leave and go cry in the ambulance to Sue, again. 

“Ian, you’re so nice, thank you.” Ryan leaned up, as if he was going to kiss Ian’s cheek, but Ian ducked away at the last second, hurrying out of the store.

The female employee, back at the front desk, called to him as he left. “See you next time, Ian!”

Bitch, he thought. He’d never bothered to look and see whether she had a TiMER, but he was sure she did, probably met her One and immediately fell in love, just like in the movies. They didn’t make movies about guys like him, eight time losers with blank TiMERs who were pretty sure there was no one out there for them, for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said before, do you trust me?  
> -  
> Posting schedule will be irregular because work is starting up again. But I'm still a prolific and fast writer so ...???


	3. Any Day Now!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TiMERs and TV ads.

“If a clock could count down to the exact moment you meet your soulmate would you want to know? That's the claim of manufacturers of a new device called The TiMER. Many people are skeptical, and protests have erupted outside TiMER locations across the globe.”

"Thanks, Mary. In other news, the World Cup Finals...."

-

_ Change the fuckin' channel! _

_ Click.  _

-

“The next evolutionary step in computer matchmaking The TiMER lets you know when your perfect match--”

  
“Perfect match, bullpucky! Alice and I’ve been together 23 years, we don’t need some _toy_ to know that  no  relationship is perfect! We do the hard work and stick together, even when life is rough.”

“That’s right, Bob. Love is a decision, and a choice, not something cooked up in a LAB!”

-

_ Click. _

-

“We've discovered that all humans are on a path to true love. Implanted just after the onset of puberty and powered by body heat, The TiMER monitors levels of oxytocin, the hormone of love….”

“Sir, couldn’t the new technology be fooled, by artificial means?”

“Not at all, or at least, it would be very challenging.”

-

_ Click. _

-

“It zeroes out at midnight, the night before, and in the next day it could go off at any second and you meet your soulmate.”

“Soulmate means different things to different people though. I might have someone who meets all my emotional needs but has a totally different life plan. 

The TiMER offers you the person who does it all for you.”

“But what if I’ve already met someone who-”

-

_ Click. _

_ - _

“I thought he was the one. He had the same countdown as I did, but when the day came, he wasn’t there! It was someone else, someone I’d never met before. I couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to accept it. But Ben, my One, said that happens a lot, either people fall for scams, or make mistakes. I guess that’s what it was, just a mistake.”

-

_ Click. _

_ - _

“Are you tired of sitting around, waiting for love? Your days of watching and wondering are over. Say goodbye to heartache and disappointments. Now you can be on the clock. True love, on a schedule.”

-

_ Click. _

_ - _

“Introducing TiMER: a revolutionary device that tells you not only who your soulmate is but when you'll meet them.”

-

_ Click. _

_ - _

“New scams are flooding the TiMER market, from fake timers being sold on Craigslist to imports from less scrupulous countries that can be set to display any time the wearer chooses. More and more people are being fooled or duped by these ploys, and we urge our viewers to be careful in whom they reveal their TiMERs to! Though there are no cases of a genuine TiMER being fooled, the fake ones are nearly impossible to tell apart from the genuine ones.”

-

_ Click. _

_ - _

“TiMER: taking the guesswork out of love.”

-

_ Click. _

_ - _

“If you or a loved one has been harmed by a fake TiMER, you may be entitled to compensation! Call now to speak to a lawyer about-”

_ - _

_ Click. _

_ - _

“It doesn’t tell you who to love, it just kind of confirms what you already know? The way you already feel in your heart, but when you’re ready for it, I guess, it just works out.”

-

_ Turn that shit off already, Mickey. _


	4. 5262 D 14 H 55M 59 S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian discusses the Ryan situation with Carl and later with Sue.

Carl woke up in his own bed, feeling clammy sweat where a soft body lay draped over his own. He opened his eyes, and saw blonde ( _ dyed _ ) hair and smudged eyeliner. He sighed deeply, hoping the movement might wake her. No such luck.

Time for the faux allergies. Carl was practically an expert at this game, having had many a female companion over for an evening of no-strings attached fun. 

“Cough, cough.” It was such an obvious fake, but it usually worked. He eyed the blonde, and saw with relief that her eyes had batted, beginning to open. In short order, he was walking her downstairs, having gentlemanly refused a morning quickie. 

At the front door, she turned to question him on the bum-rush, “But honey-bunch, don’t you got like, twenty years to go?”

“Fourteen and a half. Thanks for last night, please don’t call me, I’ll call you.” He wouldn’t. After submitting to a morning-breath filled smooch, he shut the door, and ambled into the kitchen where Ian sat with a half-empty bowl of cereal in front of him. 

“Yo, Ian, how’d the installation go?”

Ian gestured to himself and the empty kitchen table, as if to say, how do you  _ think  _ it went.

“Ryan’s not my one.”

Carl stole the cereal box from in front of Ian, pouring himself a bowl. “I’m shocked.”

“We can’t all be as lucky as Lip, waiting a mere nine months to meet your One,” Ian groused.

“You jealous?”

“Of course I am! But I know there’s someone for me. He’s gonna accept all of me, when I find him, not care about the bipolar, my crazy family, the hours I work… all of it. All of  _ me _ .”

“Hey, Debbie’s got a blank TiMER too and she’s not all hung up about it.”

“Yeah, well, Debbie’s not on the wrong side of 30.”

Carl just nodded, and ate his cereal.

* * *

At work, Ian broke the news to Sue as they sat in the open ambulance bay eating lunch between calls.

“Look, kid, I told you before, you can’t just take every guy with a bare wrist in for testing. The pressure scares people off.”

“But how else can I make progress?”

“That’s your problem. You’re looking at this like a linear equation. Ian plus blank TiMER equals find a bare wrist dude, add a TiMER and live happily ever after. I don’t think that’s how it- oh, hey, kiddo. What’s wrong?”

Sue was addressing a small girl who had crept up to them. Shyly, she held out a finger. Ian put down his half eaten sandwich to kneel in front of her. 

“Did you get a splinter here?”

The girl nodded solemnly. 

“I can help you with that.” He pulled out his tweezers, and in a moment had the offending sliver removed, covering the site with a fluorescent yellow band-aid.

“You’re good with kids,” Sue observed. “Isn’t your youngest brother having that thing tonight?”

“Don’t remind me, I have to watch. Liam’s so cute I could just- just punch him in the face. Doesn’t mean I wanna see  _ that _ .”

“But you’re gonna go, right?”

“Of course I am. He’s still my little brother; I’d never bail on him like Frank and Monica.”

“You’re a good man, Ian Gallagher.”

“Tell the whole world, wouldya? I need better PR, maybe that’ll help me find my One.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so Sue is my favorite side character in all of Shameless, because Alicia Coppola is terrific. (I went through a Jericho phase of my life.)  
> Carl, well, Carl is the easiest Gallagher for me to write, and the show hasn't really ever given him enough credit.   
> But he still has 14.5 years before he meets his One in this story, so don't hold out hope for a Carl-Happy-Ending.   
> Someday I'll write on for him, but not yet.


	5. $30.29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian has to make a quick stop; Mickey tries to make a joke.

It was the end of a long shift in the ambulance with Sue. Even though it was only 6 pm, he’d been on the job since 6 am. They hadn’t lost anyone today, but it had still been a tedious, gross day. Lots of bodily fluids, lots of questionable hygiene, and lots of unpleasant odors. Ian had missed dinner at home, and Carl had helpfully informed him that there were no leftovers to be had, and also, could he pick up some milk?

Of course he could. He  _ would  _ have gone to the supermarket, if he’d gotten the text sooner, but Carl sent it when Ian was five minutes from home. There was only one place open nearby.

He had pulled up and parked his ancient sedan in front of the Kash N Grab, running through his short list in his head: Milk, jerky, frozen dinner, maybe a Reese’s peanut butter cup.

There was no one behind the counter as he walked in, but down one of the aisles he could see a man squatting, stocking a shelf of energy drinks. 

_That was a thick ass…_ _The guy looked flexible too._

Ian shook himself, thinking of his list again. Milk, jerky, frozen dinner, peanut butter cup. Even tired and dragging, he was quickly able to grab the requisite items and carry them up to the register, along with a few extras. The glance at the man’s ass had reminded him that he was dangerously low on lube, so he added that to the growing pile in his basket. The employee had seen him coming to be checked out, and risen, wiping his hands on a dumb green half apron, then sauntered up the register to ring Ian up.

Swipe, beep, in the bag. 

Ian watched his hands, noting absently the crude finger tattoos and TiMER blinking away, displaying numbers Ian couldn’t quite read from his angle.

“You ever hear the one about the single guy in the convenience store?” The tone was relaxed, like the cashier was in the middle of a conversation, but Ian couldn’t see a bluetooth device on him so he asked the obvious question.

“Who, me?” 

The guy nodded, and finally met Ian’s eyes. And damn, Ian felt like maybe he was more exhausted than he had realized, because seeing those eyes had him swaying on his feet, unable to even come up with the word for the color.  _ Summer sky? Methane flame? _

Swipe, beep, in the bag.

“It’s an oldie but a goodie. Fuck it, I’ll tell you.” Ian still hadn’t said anything, hadn’t participated in the conversation in any meaningful way, but apparently all the guy needed was a willing audience, because he continued.

Swipe, beep, in the bag.

“The guy brings all his stuff up to the register: four-pack of toilet paper, microwaveable dinners, that sort of thing. The check-out guy looks at all of his stuff and asks: "Hey, are you single?" He kinda laughs, and he's like ‘Why, can you tell by all the stuff I'm buying, like all the single-serve items?’ He's like ‘No, 'cause you're fuckin' ugly.’”

Swipe, beep, in the bag.

Ian was horrified, aghast. 

_ What was this- was that an insult?  _

The cashier made an awkward face, tongue pushed firmly into his cheek, laughing. “I thought that woulda gone over a lot better.”

“Seriously?” Disapproval was etched on Ian’s features, or maybe disbelief.

Swipe, beep, in the bag.

“Yeah. I kinda thought you would've got the irony.”

_ Irony? How was it ironic? _

He managed to keep his voice level, “Yeah, sorry, missed it.”

Swipe, beep, in the bag.

“Well, I mean… with you being so hot, and all.”

_ Oh. Was he- was he hitting on Ian? What was he supposed to say to that? _

“Good one.”

“I'm 100% sincere on that. Your total is $30.29.”

Ian noticed his eyes again, finding the word at last.  _ Blue _ . But this version of blue wasn’t the blue of the ocean or a pool, some cold thing. This was blue like a form of heat. Could blue be warm? Because the eyes staring at him are warm, eloquent in a way the rough joke and finger tattoos try to contradict.

Ian fumbled, bringing out his debit card, having to run it through a few times before the machine decided to accept it. Every swipe made Ian feel at least a foot smaller.

The cashier was talking to him again. “I see your TiMER’s blank.”

Ian glanced at his own right wrist, where yet another piece of technology seemed to be mocking him. “And?” It came out with more force than he’d intended.

“Nothing.” The cashier’s tone was unconcerned. “You're sweating your future, though, right? That's a shame. 'Cause you could have a  _ much  _ more exciting present if you really wanted.” He raised one dark eyebrow suggestively.

The cashier was definitely hitting on Ian. But he wasn’t that guy, the one who hooked up with random guys, guys who had soulmates out there waiting for them. 

“I'll keep that in mind-” Ian’s tone was neutral, and he left the phrase hanging long enough that the cashier realized what he wanted.

“Mickey.” He gave Ian a crooked smile, and Ian felt his resolve weaken slightly, until the cashier knuckled at his nose with his right hand, TiMER clearly visible. Ian’s resolve was an impenetrable fortress again.

“Of course.” He gave a polite smile and accepted his receipt.

“So long.” The cashier, Mickey, was leaning way over the counter as Ian left the store, watching him walk away.  _ Checking him out? _ Ian felt compelled to give him a little half wave.

“Bye-bye.” He told himself he was just being  _ polite _ . As the door closed behind him, he heard Mickey’s final words drift to his ears.

“Take care.”


	6. 6.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian watches a documentary and talks with Carl.

Back at the Gallagher home, post-frozen dinner but pre-family  _ thing _ , Ian found himself alone on the couch with a beer, only halfway paying attention to a documentary. The guy at the store- if he really knew about Ian, he’d be running the other way.

_ “Within their peer group culture, each of them is posturing based on how the other boys are posturing, and what they end up missing is what they each really want, which is that closeness…” _

Carl slid onto the couch next to him, sprawling and splaying his legs out.

“ _ In good times _ ,” the documentary continued, “ _ guys are, like, really close to each other, but when things get a little bit worse, you’re on your own… _ ”

“Is that a hickey or a bruise?” Ian was staring at Carl’s neck. It  _ looked  _ like a hickey, but with Carl one could never tell which was more likely, a fight or a fuck. 

Carl grinned proudly. “Hickey.”

“ _ Our kids get up every morning, they have to prepare their mask, for how they’re gonna walk to school. A lot of our students don’t know how to take the mask off. _ ”

Ian lowered the volume on the TV. “Did she have a TiMER?”

“Of course she had a TiMER. Timerless women are too weird, fucking conflicted. Ladies with built-in expiration dates, now they wanna sow their oats. Multiple tantric oats.” The shit-eating smile on Carl’s face felt like a personal attack, even though logically Ian knew it wasn’t. 

“You know they’re just using you, right?”

“I'm using them. Win-win.”

“ _ If we’re in a culture that doesn’t value caring, doesn’t value platonic relationships, doesn’t value empathy, you are going to have boys and girls, men and women, who go crazy, make bad choices, hurt those around them. _ ”

Ian sat up, facing Carl fully. “I just don't-- You have, like, scientific proof that these idiots are a waste of your time, and yet, you go after them anyway. It cannot be as satisfying as you say.”

“Yeah, you know, blazing hot anonymous sex is super-tedious.” Sensing Ian’s discomfiture, Carl changed the subject. “Scale of 1-10: How sad are you about Brian?”

“Ryan.”

“Whatever.”

“6.5. You know what, though… It's fine. It's not even about Ryan. I just wanna know. You know? Even if it says I'm not gonna meet him until I'm…”

“What? 43?” Carl waved his right wrist and TiMER in Ian’s chagrined face. 

“ _...whether it’s homicidal violence, suicidal violence, sexual or emotional violence, people resort to such desperate behavior only when they are feeling ashamed and humiliated, or feel they would be, if they didn’t prove that they were real men…. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The documentary Ian is watching is called The Mask You Live In. All quotes (with very minor additions) are from that film.


	7. 0003 D 03 H 48 M 22 S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam gets his TiMER.

Ian and Carl had migrated into the kitchen when Fiona finally arrived home, with Matchmaker Sheila in tow. She came over to hug Carl, then Ian, exclaiming, “ This is exciting! Isn't this exciting? So where's Ryan?”

Abashed, Ian answered her, wishing the floor would open up and eat him instead. “He's not my One.”

Fiona’s face fell. “Oh, sweetface. Oh, I'm sorry. Why did you have to take him today, of all days?”

Confused, Ian lowered his brows. “Because  _ you  _ said it would be  double the celebration?” Lip came thundering down the stairs, carrying Freddie in his arms. 

Fiona seemed to brush off Ian’s embarrassment and sadness. “Ryan was never right for you anyway. We all knew that.” Then, she remembered the evening’s big event, shouting. “Liam!”

“Yeah?” The voice came from right behind her, where Liam stood on the bottom stair in the living room, directly behind her. 

She ruffled his hair affectionately, before leading the collected Gallagher’s into the living room. “Good. Debbie’s still at work, can’t believe she’s a bartender. Okay,  everybody this way!”

Ian addressed Liam, “Hi. Are you so excited?”

“Kinda thought Frank might show up,” Liam admitted.

“Might be better that he isn’t here, when I had my TiMER installed, and it was blank, he nearly punched-”

“Ian, don't be a douche.” That was Lip’s big contribution. 

“What? I'm  happy for him.”

Liam laid solemnly on the couch as Sheila leaned over him, intoning the official words.

“Liam Fergus Beircheart Gallagher, I certify that you are of TiMER-eligible age, this being the first month of your ninth grade school year.”

“Are you ready, baby?” Fiona sat beside Liam, squeezing his hand tightly.

“Piece of cake, Liam.” Carl nodded his agreement to Ian’s words of support.

“Take a deep breath, hun.”

Sheila leaned over and with an object that closely resembled a pricing gun, applied the TiMER in Liam’s arm with a loud click. Liam winced, but quickly opened his eyes, as the whole family and Sheila leaned in to look at the display on his wrist.

0003 D 03 H 48 M 22 S

Ian was the first to step back, face pale a sheet, freckles standing out in contrast, hair sticking up. “Three days? That's bullshit!” He remembered this wasn’t about him, and made an effort to school his expression. “Sorry, Liam. ‘Scuse me.”

Fiona looked into Liam’s eyes, worried. “Three days, Liam? That’s a pretty quick countdown, but…”

“It's  better to know earlier-” Matchmaker Sheila offered.

“- Than later?” Carl’s tone was laconic, a strong undercurrent of bitterness in his voice.

“Carl, you know that’s not what she-” Fiona protested.

Ian stood up, stepping away. Everything felt unreal. “You know what, I'm  gonna go.”

“Ian, I’m sorry, this must feel fuckin’ unfair.” Fiona put a hand on his arm. 

“Sorry  about Brian,” Lip’s face didn’t look very sorry as he bounced Freddie in his arms, his eyes were sparkling with that specific joy people who were paired up would get when their partner was thinking of them.  _ Asshole _ .

“Ryan,” Carl corrected smugly.

“You think I keep track of all his fucking loser potentials?”

_ Fuck you, Lip. _

Fiona directed a glare at Lip, but before she could launch any words, Ian interjected, “It's okay, Fi, really. No! Don't even think about it. I'm just - I remembered I need to go pick up my meds. I’ll be back later. It's fine. Congratulations.” Ian leaned over to kiss Liam on the forehead. “Bye guys.”

This was supposed to be Liam’s big night, he’d just received great news and Ian- Ian needed to go lick his wounds in private. Or maybe not so private.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There are some comments and questions I'm deliberately not responding to, because I have a plan, and I don't want to ruin it.  
> Do you still trust me?


	8. 129D 6H 32 M 44 S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian runs to the only person he can think of.

Ian was sitting in his parked car. He’d left the house and just driven mindlessly, not realizing where he was going until he saw the tacky red awning over the windows pasted with ads.

_Was he really going to do this? The guy might take one look at him and - and what?_

He got out of the car, looking again at the sign over the door, then walked determinedly into the Kash N Grab. Changed his mind, turned on his heel, and hurried back to his car.

_Fucking hell. Just- just go in the store._

He walked back to the door, hoping vainly that there wasn’t an exterior camera recording his perseveration for posterity. Reaching for the door handle, he expected it to give easily, but it seemed to be stuck? At last, he was able to yank it open, almost falling into the small store. Despite this, he put on a facade of confidence, striding confidently through, casting his gaze down every aisle to find the object of his search, who was lackadaisically mopping.

Ian stood at the end of the aisle, hands clasped in front of his midsection, trying to radiate sincerity, “Hey, what time do you get off?”

Mickey stopped mopping, taking a long look up and down Ian’s body. He rubbed a thumb over his mouth, before asking “Scuse me?”

Ian was irritated. Didn’t the guy understand this was a big deal for him?

“Do you want me to repeat it?”

Mickey looked around at the empty store, “Yes, over the loudspeaker, if you don't mind.”

_Ok, that was kinda cute… but still. Was this happening, or not?_

Ian could feel his doubts and reservations creeping back in.

“Believe me when I tell you, this is your one shot, so make it count.”

Mickey scrambled, dropping the mop to the floor and ripping the ugly green apron off with a growl. “Now, now, I fuckin get off now.” With a shaking hand, he flipped the sign in the window to CLOSED, shut off the lights, and locked the door, following Ian out into the parking lot. They walked, Mickey by Ian’s side, nearly touching. Ian could feel the occasional brush of those tattooed knuckles against his own hand at his side. The warmth from those light touches was building, making him take deep, gulping breaths of the night air.

Once they were both seat belted in, Ian turned to face Mickey.

“You’re not coming to my house.”

“Oh, ok. Uh... So, I have roommates. My brothers. But we can still go there.”

“How many brothers?”

“Four. But they should be out.”

Mickey’s brothers were decidedly _not_ out. They were piled in the messy living room around the TV, video game controllers in hand. Pizza and beer bottles and cigarettes everywhere. They stared in confusion at Ian, as he stood slightly behind Mickey in the doorway.

“Yo, short n fugly, who’s your friend?” One brother, wearing a tee-shirt with what looked like a giant glass of milk with tits on it, asked.

Mickey laughed nervously, glancing back and forth between Ian and his siblings. “Guys, where’s your fuckin manners? Everybody, this is - um,” he turned, leaning in close to Ian as he asked, “What’s your name?”

Playing along, Ian whispered back to him. “Ian.”

“Ian, this is Joey, Tony, the skinny guy in the chair is Colin, and that's Iggy.” Iggy wore the big-breasted milk glass tee and seemed to recognize the name.

“Ian, like Ian Gallagher, Frank’s kid?”

“Sure. Iggy, is it?”

Iggy nodded happily at the confirmation, but didn’t have any follow up questions. It was immeasurably weird to Ian, but he just kept taking deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“We'll be in the bedroom, it's just around the corner there.” Mickey ushered Ian past the living room and the gaze of his family, eyes sliding away from Ian’s body, then slipping back to gaze at the length of his limbs.

The bedroom was, quite frankly, a disaster zone. Mickey started the quick-fast cleanup routine, shoving everything off his bed, kicking things into the closet and throwing a ( _clean_?) towel over a pile of beer bottles, a gay porn magazine, and, was that a knife with dried BLOOD on it? The doubts looming in Ian’s mind began to take over.

“Ya know, maybe this was a bad idea…”

At that, Mickey’s face fell. “No! No, no, no. This is a fuckin great idea. It's up there with, um… Gravity, or cold fusion… what-have-you, it's just…” He began waving his hands and stepping into Ian’s space, looking up at him through those thick black lashes, “It's a really, really good idea.”

Before Ian could formulate a response, he felt that perfect cupid’s bow mouth pressed to his, losing himself in the warm soft lips. It was a pretty tame kiss, but Ian’s heart was pounding when Mickey pulled back slightly to brush the stubborn lock of Ian’s red hair back off his face, tracing his right hand over Ian’s cheekbone and jawline. Ian could feel the reverence in the gesture, that felt headier than anything else so far.

“You’re not ugly, you know. What your brother said, he’s full of shit.” He kept his voice low, resonant.

Mickey blushed, repeating the petting gesture of Ian’s face again. Ian nuzzled into it, feeling that warmth and heat begin to fill him up like a pothole in the road being patched with boiling tar. Then his eyes flicked out, and he saw Mickey’s TiMER and the heat evaporated. 

“Four months to go, eh?”

Mickey tensed. “Yeah, well, you know… Four... long months.”

Damn. Messing around with a guy who had a TiMER was bad enough but four months? It was like a slap in the face, or a splash of ice water. Ian was ready to leave. He refused to be the other woman or a one night stand for someone whose heart was going to be committed elsewhere in twelve fucking weeks.

He leaned down, until his forehead was pressed to Mickey’s, taking in one last lungful of the other man’s scent, laundry detergent, cigarette smoke, and shampoo. 

“You enjoy that time.”

Mickey had closed his eyes as Ian leaned in, expecting another kiss, perhaps. “Huh?”

Ian pulled out of the closeness of their bodies. “Yeah, I'll just-- I gotta…”

“No, no. Stay.” Mickey’s tone was pleading, and it made Ian even sadder.

“No, I really… I can't stay.”

Mickey tried again, practically whining, a small crease furrowing his forehead between his eyebrows, “No, fuck can't-- Let's go back...The kissing?”

Ian left him there, in the messy bedroom, walking past the brothers, who turned wide eyes on him but asked no questions. 

He was glad he hadn’t made a mistake he would have to regret in the morning. But he was suddenly cold all over in a way his little car’s heater couldn’t seem to touch.


	9. 5 minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream, and some reality.

_ Ian was watching an egg in a pot of water on the stove. Had he turned the stovetop on? He couldn’t remember. _

_ Behind him stood a man in a fancy gold Venetian mask. _

_ The water in the pot was swirling, suddenly as blue as the heavy turquoise ring Matchmaker Sheila wore. The egg’s white shell kept popping through like a cloud in the clear sky.  _

_ Feeling observed, Ian turned to the masked man, who had acquired a green apron. “Who are you?” _

_ “I’m him. You know what they say about a fuckin watched pot, right?” _

**_Beep Beep Beep_ **

_ Why was the egg beeping at him? _

Ian shook his head, burrowing more deeply into the blankets. He wanted to go back to the egg and the man and the blue.

**_Beep Beep Beep_ **

Fuck. The dream was gone.

* * *

Carl was leaning back in an office chair, phone in hand, his feet propped on the desktop. Elderly people wandered, looking both bored and lost behind him. 

An announcement could be heard in the background as Ian answered the call.

“Attention residents. The raffle will  begin in 5 minutes.”

Before Carl could start, Ian cut him off. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Did I ask?”

There was a pause where neither of them spoke, then Carl broke it.

“So? How are you?”

“I told you, I'm  _ fine _ . Fi even  found me a date for  tomorrow night. Somebody's cousin, divorced businessman with no TiMER.”

“Our sister is unstoppable.”

“No shit. Did I  totally ruin Liam’s night?”

“Nah,  Matchmaker Sheila handled that all on her own.”

“You know,  Romeo and  Juliet were 14 when they  found each other.”

“Liam’s not Romeo. And didn’t those two die?”

Ian hung up on him with no anger, as Sue hurried up to him, ready to go on a call.


	10. You can say it, I'm not gonna laugh.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey tries, yet again.

The “emergency” they’d been called out for was a woman drunk after swallowing four bottles of vanilla extract because “it had just smelled so good.” She’d vomited when they were still 12 minutes out from the hospital, and seemed to be feeling much better after that.

Sue had stepped out to the restroom while Ian was in the ambulance bay, scrubbing vanilla scented puke off of the stretcher when he felt eerie deja vu, the same sensation from his dream, of being observed.

Mickey stood behind him, hands in his pockets, still wearing his work apron, making the deja vu even stronger. Ian didn’t have the energy or interest just then, and his voice was flat as he asked, “How’d you find me?”

“There ain’t a whole lot of EMT’s who look like you, the,” Mickey waved a tattooed hand at Ian’s hair, “whole firecrotch thing.”

“Great, you found me. Now get lost. Please.”

“I think I might need stitches, whaddya think?” Mickey held out his hand, showing a fresh cut. It was clearly superficial and probably just an excuse.

“This… I…” Ian was torn between the urge to care for any wound and the warring desire for Mickey to leave him the fuck alone.

“C’mon. How cute do I look with this apron on?” Mickey did a little turn that seemed to be calculated to draw Ian’s attention back to that ass. It worked: he wanted to bury his face in the lush globes. The things he could do to that…  _ Fuck _ .

“Look, this is my  place of work...”

“Okay, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to  freak you out, I just… I  thi nk you're  really cool and I think… We  should hang out.” The accompanying shrug made Ian’s heart melt just a little. 

“Oh, um, Mickey, I…” This wasn’t working, he was trying to put out all the signs of disinterest and Mickey kept acting like they were catnip or some shit, encouragement. 

There was a look of sadness on Mickey’s expressive face, though Ian couldn’t tell whether it was genuine or not. 

“Ey, I'm just a check-out guy. I’m not fuckin handsome, or tall: I know all that.”

Horrified, Ian protested, “No! That's not it. None of that- you’re actually-” he was about to blurt out  _ my type _ but how could he even have a  _ type  _ if he hadn’t met his One yet? 

“Okay, good.” Mickey nodded, clearing his throat. “I'm in a band. And I'm real passionate  about my music. Your real  issue is my TiMER?

“Yeah, it is,” Ian admitted. Not like it was some big secret.

Mickey rubbed his lip, considering. “Dudes like you  think I'm cheating on  someone I haven't met yet, right?”

“No, I just  think that if you have a countdown, if you're  lucky enough to know your path to…” Ian’s voice trailed off. 

“True love. You can say it, I'm not  gonna laugh.” The quirked eyebrows seemed to disagree, but Ian forged on.

“Yeah, to true love. Then you  should , I dunno,  honor that.”

Mickey frowned. “See, that's what's stupid about the TiMER - it says you have one path, and you can't take detours. I mean, life is  about detours.”

“You know what?” Ian was getting more and more irritated. This guy didn’t know how good he had it. “You  sound like a  credit card commercial. I'm  looking for my One, and  _ you're  _ not him.”

“Yeah, ok. I get it.” Mickey shoved those expressive hands, complete with offending TiMER back in his pockets, eyes sorrowful as he turned on his heel and left. Ian totally believed the dejection this time, it was written in Mickey’s posture and step.

Sue glared non-verbal daggers at Ian, but he studiously ignored her, focusing on the stubborn remains of vanilla-scented vomit.


	11. Three measly words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian goes on a date.

Ian was wearing a tie. There were many things wrong with his evening, but the very worst was that he had dressed up, willingly let Fiona tie some complicated fancy knot around his neck, and now he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He was sitting outside an upscale restaurant with his date for night, Ned. Ned looked a little like Richard Gere. If you squinted hard, and were really drunk. Neither of them had thought to make reservations, and there was a wait for a table, so the hostess had given them a little device called a pager, telling them it would light up when it was their turn to be seated. 

Ned wasn’t quite what Ian had been expecting. He was older, which was  _ fine _ . But he was also quiet, and his eyes slid away from Ian’s every time he tried to engage the man in conversation, like Ned felt guilty about something. He had on a fancy watch and his clothes were obviously expensive, but both wrists were barren of the device Ian always checked for.

“Will this  thing buzz, or  light up?” He tried once again to open a friendly discussion, shaking the pager the hostess had given him.

“Both, I think.” 

_ Three measly words?  _ His mind was drawn back to someone else, a different person, who had no problem talking to him, even if it was mostly nonsense.

“They said 15 minutes.” He could do this. 15 minutes of waiting was child’s play for Ian, really.

“Yes.” Now Ned was up to four words. Quite the scintillating conversationalist.

Ian plunged ahead, tackling the elephant in the room. “So, Ned, why have you never gotten a TiMER?” He was genuinely curious, the man wasn’t bad looking, had resources, and was gay. There were plenty of men, and probably quite a few women as well, for whom that was enough, even if his personality left a little ( _ a lot _ ) to be desired.

Ned actually looked at Ian, as he seemed to consider his answer. “Romance has  never really been a  priority for me.” 

Did he mean sex wasn’t a priority? Because Ian could understand that. 

Ian shook the seating pager, “Is this  thing working?”

It was worse than torture, at least torture would have been interesting. Ned, the food, the restaurant, the whole thing just  _ bored  _ Ian. 

Involuntarily, his mind drifted back to Mickey, the way his warm blue eyes had been oddly sad when Ian had bailed on him. Would Ned be sad if Ian left the date?

He  _ could  _ find out, but then he’d feel bad. Besides, what if Ned was his One? Ian resolved to stick it out. 

After more awkward silence, their device began to flash and buzz, and they were seated at a weirdly large table with a long, white table cloth that draped all the way to the floor. There were more pieces of silverware on the table than Ian thought his family owned in total. 

The menu? It was in French. Neither Ian nor Ned spoke or read French, and the waitress had to slowly explain each option like they were children. With a different dinner partner, it could have been a bonding experience, a chance to laugh at themselves. With Ned, it was just… dull. Like they were both passengers in the same train car, not even passing acquaintances. 

The food at least made up for the lack of good company. Every dish and course had its own set of flatware which the waitress kindly explained as she set down the plate. Ian had a mouthful of a delicious buttery, garlicy knot of something he thought was mushroom, when he looked at the design on his plate. The swirl of microgreens and basil oil actually looked a lot like a- he nearly vomited. He was eating  _ snails _ .

Ned just looked at him phlegmatically, as Ian made every effort not to spit his mouthful into the heavy cream linen napkin across his lap. Carefully, he chewed, swallowed deliberately, and took a huge swig from his water glass, chasing it with the white wine Ned had requested. 

“Not good?”

“Um, no, it’s- it’s fine. Saving room.” Ian produced a queasy smile, patting his lips with the napkin, trying to wipe away all traces of the slime he could practically feel coating his lips and throat. 

The rest of the meal passed by in a quiet blur, lots of food that probably was incredible, if Ian had tasted any of it, but he was caught up in dreading the end of the date. What if Ned made a move on him? The best defence was a good offence, Ian knew.

“Fiona mentioned you were divorced?”

Ned’s eyes widened slightly, but he answered carefully. “Yes, my ex wife, she, well, I needed someone to bring to work events. Her One had died when they were young, and we thought a practical arrangement would be mutually beneficial.”

“What happened?” Against his own will, Ian was intrigued. He couldn’t fathom making those kinds of choices. 

“Her TiMER reactivated.”

“Wait, really?” Having a second soulmate was unheard of, but part of him thought it could possibly make sense. He leaned in, placing his elbows on the tables, not realizing his tie was now dipping in the excess sauce from his entree.

“It turned out to be one of those scams, had her checked out at the Mayo Clinic and everything. Some woman in Cleveland.”

“Huh.” Ian hadn’t heard about something like this before.

“ _ Alice _ .”

Finally, Ned peeked at Ian’s eyes, and they shared a very small, wry smile. It wasn’t enough to build on, not really, but it made Ned more human, somehow, and Ian appreciated that. 


	12. The Milkmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian meets Debbie for a drink. There's a band playing, with some familiar faces.

After his date, Ian had agreed to meet Debbie at her work to grab a drink. Of course the bar she worked at had a weird punk-goth aesthetic, and Ian stuck out like a sore thumb in his tie and collared shirt. 

There was a live band, but Ian just leaned against the bar, waiting for his sister to have a free minute. 

“Was it as  magical as you hoped?”

“Hey Debs, nice to see you too.”

“Whatever. I can tell from your face that you were bored silly.”

“You know, it doesn't all have to be  chemistry from the jump. Feelings can grow over time.” Ian wasn’t defending  _ Ned _ , he was defending himself, his fixation on finding the one. A fixation Debbie didn’t share.

“Yep,  sparks are fleeting, nothing to talk about can last a lifetime.” She cocked her head and grinned at him, before producing a beer from below the bar for him.

“Thanks.”

“Have at it. I'll be back.”

The band’s frontman was speaking into the mike, and Ian listened to distract himself.

“Hey, we're The Milkmen. Thanks for  coming out. This is our last song. It's called: ‘Hey, can I call you back? I have to  dispose of Terry’s body’.”

“What’re you gonna tell Fiona?” Debbie was back, arms folded on the bar top, cleavage proudly on display. She didn’t seem hung up on finding her One yet, but Ian hoped she was just covering up her feelings.

“The truth, what else?”

“Hey, do you know this band?”

“These guys?” Ian glanced back at the stage quickly. They looked familiar, but he couldn’t place the faces.

“Yeah, their big hit was ‘Mickey’s Big Green Dildo’. People still beg them to sing that shit at every show.”

“Never heard of it.” Ian wasn’t really listening to the music, but the song title made him think about his Mickey,  _ again _ . Wondering if he was a top or a bottom. Ian often wished to have been born a bottom: it would have made so many things easier. 

The song being played was rough, and loud, but it had a good rhythm. The lyrics, as Ian paid attention, were profane, but wickedly funny. Idly, he perused the band members, eyes catching on the drummer in the back, watching the flashing hands, and the dark smudges on the knuckles- he almost spit out his drink as he recognized the drummer from the tattooed knuckles alone.  _ Mickey _ . What were the chances?

This was  _ Mickey’s  _ band. He caught Mickey’s eye, and the drummer nearly missed a beat, taking in a big gulp of air and setting his jaw.

Ian smiled, cocking his beer in salute, and Mickey gave him back the smallest unsteady smile, eyebrows happy and relaxed, before concentrating on what he was doing again.

_ Mickey’s Big Green Dildo, eh? Definitely a bottom. Good to know. _


	13. 5200 Words of Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5200 Words of Smut. Feel free to skip to the end notes for a relevant recap.
> 
> I'm a little behind in writing so the daily posting may slow up.

They were making out in the open doorway of Mickey’s apartment, unable to even wait to get to the bedroom. As soon as the band had stepped offstage, Mickey had found Ian in the crowd, and things had progressed from there. 

Now, Mickey’s mouth was glued to the pale column of Ian’s neck, kissing and biting at the flesh there, sending hot chills down Ian’s spine.

“Shut the door.”

“Huh?”

“Your front door.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mickey seemed lost, just completely consumed as he moved to suck Ian’s bottom lip into his mouth. His hand, those callused, tattooed fingers wrapped around Ian’s neck, pulling him down and in, stroking and petting the tender spot behind his ear. 

Ian pulled his mouth away, looking at the still-open door. “Wait, won’t your brothers be home soon?”

“Nah, don't worry, the guys'll be at the bar for a few more hours. Taking turns with our groupies.” Mickey’s mouth returned to Ian’s neck, trying to force down the collar but impeded by the damn tie.

Frustrated, Ian reached to pull off his tie, trying to give Mickey more room to work with, but he must have pulled the wrong way, because suddenly he couldn’t breath.

“You ok there, firecrotch?”

Ian’s eyes were wide, as he continued to fumble with the knot. Were his lips turning blue? They felt cold without Mickey pressed against him, or maybe it was the lack of oxygen.

Mickey casually reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded knife. He flicked it open, and met Ian’s eyes. “You like this tie?”

Ian shook his head from side to side, staring nervously at the blade. With a deft, practiced motion, Mickey slid the knife between Ian’s shirt and tie, and sliced the offending material, letting it drop to the floor. Ian released a gasp, leaning heavily on Mickey, who grinned. 

_It was probably wrong to be turned on by how the guy worked a knife._

Mickey reached out a hand, kicked the front door shut with one booted foot, and led Ian back to the messy bedroom. It still looked like a tornado had come through, but Ian didn’t care, just blindly reached for Mickey, meeting his mouth and sliding his hands down to grasp at the ass that he’d been appreciating since the very first time they’d met.

Mickey’s tongue was tasting Ian’s mouth, stroking him from the inside, and it felt like wet flame; he knew he was hard in his dress slacks. Mickey wouldn’t be able to miss it if he- _Shit_. Mickey was reaching down, trying to sneak his hand into Ian’s pants, but Ian pulled his hips back.

If Mickey found out, he’d be scared away, and he didn’t _want_ to scare Mickey away. Maybe if he could just get the lights off, Mickey wouldn’t see it.

Ian’s dick had always been an issue. It was big, but not in a way that was hot. Too long, and painfully thick, to the point of ruining his experiences. The few partners he’d had always complained, demanding that he restrain his thrusts, not push all the way in, and often making him lose his hard-on when he saw the tears standing out in their eyes when they tried to force themselves to _let_ him fuck them with a little passion.

“Hey, Gallagher, what gives?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing, just-”

He was interrupted by the boisterous sound of footsteps and carousing, drunk voices in the hallway.

“Hey, Mickey!” One called, hammering on the bedroom door.

“Yo, Mickey, come on! Got something t’ show you!”

Mickey flung himself against the door and ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair. “Goddammit! Can't a brother [catch](https://www.definitions.net/definition/catch) a break? Okay, hold on…” He looked around the room, eyes alighting on an open box of sugary cereal stuffed in an open drawer. He thrust the box at Ian, who accepted it in confusion. “Have some cereal, I'll be [right](https://www.definitions.net/definition/right) back.”

Ian held the cereal box, more than a little confused. Shrugging, he took a handful and munched, sitting on the edge of the unmade bed.

-

Mickey stormed to the living room, cowlick standing up and lips kiss-swollen.

“You were awful tonight.”

“So bad.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Mickey was growling as he slammed the bedroom door behind him, though Ian could still hear the whole exchange. “Guys, seriously. This guy… is so far out of my league I have no idea how the fuck I got him back here.”

There was a moment of silence where Ian guessed a look of derision passed amongst the brothers, before one spoke again.

“Pussy.” There were vague murmurs of agreement, but Mickey seemed to be having none of it.

“If I'm a pussy, I'm about to have the best straight sex of my entire life! So I'm asking you all to not fuck this up for me.”

He must have done something then, because the sound of a stereo suddenly blasted through the small apartment, loud even through the bedroom walls.

Mickey stalked back into the bedroom, pulling his shirt off and kicking his pants away, leaving him in just a pair of worn plaid boxers “C’mon Gallagher, we gonna do this?”

Ian was still sitting on the end of the bed, eating out of the box of cereal, hand paused halfway to his mouth. Mickey’s body was just- _perfect_. There was no other way to say it. He was thick, but toned, biceps Ian ached to caress. His eyes craved the skin of Mickey’s thighs. His mouth too.

Unconsciously, Ian reached down, palming his still-hard cock absently through his boxer briefs.

“Hi…”

“Hey.” Mickey’s eyes softened as he watched Ian. “Miss me?”

“Fuck yeah, I did.” Ian tossed the cereal box to the floor and started to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, before getting frustrated.

“I see that. You want me to leave you alone, let you handle that thing yourself?”

Ian growled, low in his throat, surprising himself. Mickey stepped into the vee of his open knees, and unbuttoned Ian’s dress shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, before encouraging Ian to lay back on the bed entirely. Mickey grinned and crawled up Ian’s body, until their cocks were aligned through the thin cotton of their remaining clothing, strong arms caging Ian in.

“Whaddya want, Red? You wanna fuck me?”

Ian’s gaze was dumbstruck, pupils blown with lust. The negative voice in the back of his head was still there, however. _Mickey would be the same as the others, cringing away. Ian was going to hurt him too._

“I want you to let me eat you.”

“Damn, ok, man, I can get behind that.” Mickey’s ears were pink as he lifted off of Ian, stepping to the center of the room to lock the door, shoving a broken chair under the handle for good measure. Ian got his first clear look at Mickey’s thighs, and wanted to cry, sitting up on his elbows and making grabby hands that seemed to ignite a twinkle in Mickey’s eyes. He let his tattooed fingers trace along the waistband of his boxer-briefs.

Ian breathed out through his nose, trying to stay present. If it all went to shit, well, he’d just avoid Debbie’s work, and the Kash N Grab, and all of Chicago for the rest of his life, no big deal.

Mickey had pulled Ian’s boxer-briefs down to rest below his balls, and sat back on his haunches, an unreadable expression on his face.

“It’s - I- really, I just wanna eat your ass. I can- I’ll put it away,” Ian stammered out, reaching one hand down to try and tug the thin fabric up, hiding away his stupid cock.

“Are you fuckin kiddin me right now, Gallagher?”

“Huh? No- I- what?”

Mickey looked like he was thinking very hard. Concentrating so deeply that Ian half expected smoke to start issuing from the perfect whorls and shells of his ears.

“You think your dick is a problem.”

Ian nodded, face abject. He couldn’t look at Mickey’s face, didn’t want to see the rejection there. Soon, Mickey would leave his lap, leave the room, and Ian would redress in silence, make the same walk of shame he’d made so many times before.

“Who the FUCK you been sleepin with that made you think some dumb shit like that?” Ian glanced up. Mickey looked mad enough to spit, but not mad at Ian, and also not like he wanted to run to the shower and cower in fear.

“Um, so I don’t have, like, the _most_ experience, but-”

“Jesus fuckin christ, Gallagher, I cannot believe you’ve been holding out on me, hiding this monster, running away, when I could have had it up my ass weeks ago. You’ve been depriving me!”

Ian was still trembling. "Okay," he said. "Okay." He laughed, a small sound, dazed and dizzy. "About that." He met Mickey’s gaze again; his face utterly serious. "I’m guessing you don't wanna hear this, but I think you're going to want to prepare for the possibility that this won't work." There was steel in his gaze; it was important that Mickey not hurt himself just to prove a point. “I'm telling you right now that if you try to hide that you're in pain, this stops. All of it. Immediately." The memories assaulted him, flooding his inner landscape. "I just don’t wanna hurt you. So when it starts hurting, you tell me. Okay?"

Mickey laughed, voice thick. “Listen, Red, you’re gonna get what you want, my ass, your mouth, and then I’m gonna get what I want, and then I might walk funny for a day, but if I die on your cock, I’ll die a happy man.”

Ian winced. “Please- please don’t say that.”

Mickey switched tactics. “Gallagher- _Ian_. I want it inside me, I’ll beg if I have to. We can do it your way, slow as you want, but that’s what I want.”

“Won’t make you beg.” The words slipped out of Ian’s mouth, surprising him.

Mickey pulled out that dazzling white grin again, head cocked to the side, before he slithered his way impossibly closer to Ian, still spread wide across Ian’s thighs, hands coming up to cup Ian’s neck as he kissed him. Ian tried to show his appreciation of the optimism, at least, with his lips and it must have worked, because Mickey moaned into his mouth and Ian’s traitor of a cock twitched, swelling rapidly enough to make him a little dizzy, harder than he could ever remember being. Or maybe those were Mickey’s kisses and short, abortive rocking thrusts across his lap that made him feel breathless. Mickey made the best sounds, everything from moans a couple octaves above his speaking voice to impressively deep growls that rumbled through his chest, displaying so much range Ian wondered that he was a drummer and not a singer in the band.

“You wanna, uh, get this show on the road there? Or I can just sit in your lap and tell you what I want for Christmas. Here’s a hint, it’s in your pants and bigger than a breadbox.”

Ian let out a groan at the corny joke, but he was smiling. Mickey was still onboard, he didn’t know how or why but he wasn’t going to jinx it.

“Sorry.” Mickey didn’t _sound_ the least bit sorry, but it turned to be a preemptive ‘sorry’ as Ian, unprepared, was abruptly and aggressively bowled over, Mickey pressing his physical advantage and pushing Ian down on his back on the unmade bed with barely enough time to blink in confusion before Mickey was back on him. Mickey pressed his body between Ian’s thighs, buried his fingers in the short red hairs at the nape of Ian’s neck, and then proceeded to kiss all the air right out of his lungs.

Though Ian wasn’t complaining about what they were doing ( _Mickey was by far the best kisser he’d ever had, those soft lips… oof_ ) he also had a smidgin of hope that he’d be able to fuck him, even just a little tonight. Because as much as Ian feared and dreaded hurting his partners, he also dreamed about the kind of fucking he saw in porn. He dreamed about it constantly, about thrusting with wild abandon, about his partners not just _tolerating_ his dick but actually seeming to enjoy it, milking the come from his balls-

He flipped Mickey, straddling the other man and proclaiming, “I’m gonna eat you out until you’re sloppy and begging for it,” matter of factly, like he’s announcing the weather. “Does that sound good?”

“Yes,” Mickey choked out, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck yes, all- all of that, fuck-“ he added, in case Ian wasn’t getting the memo, and then groaned pitifully when Ian’s hand slid away from him, as Ian started pulling away.

“Then we need to get rid of these,” Ian said, equal parts patient and smug as he started tugging Mickey’s boxers away. “I wanna spread you out proper, can’t do that like this,” he added, holding out a hand and Mickey let himself be pulled to his feet in a slight daze.

“Right, of course, because you have _plans_ ,” Mickey said and then shivered when Ian gave him a slow smirk. Ian may not have been confident in his ability at fucking but what he did know was how to turn someone out with just his tongue and fingers. Mickey’s shivers only got more intense when Ian stepped into his space, wrapped his arms around Mickey’s waist and dug those slender yet surprisingly strong fingers into his ass.

“You have no idea,” Ian said, voice low and rough, then leaned down and kissed him. Mickey draped his arms around Ian’s shoulders, the perfect height.

“Been dreaming about gettin’ my hands on you,” Ian breathed out against his lips, grinding himself against Mickey’s thigh and driving him insane. “Wanna see you fall apart, so gorgeous. Wanna memorize every second of it, leave my mark all over you, inside an’ out.”

Mickey was too busy gasping and moaning to even try and fight it when Ian shoved him backwards, just sprawling down across the bed. Mickey couldn’t seem to help letting out a soft sigh at the sight of Ian standing above him, huge cock tenting his boxers so hard that the fabric looked strained and visibly leaking at the tip.

Ian smirked, knowing exactly what Mickey was staring at, seeing Mickey’s pulse fluttering rapidly in his neck. Mickey’s legs were still hanging awkwardly half off the bed.

Then Ian stepped back, getting Mickey’s boxers free at last, tossing them away before saying “Roll over.” Mickey let out a sigh that turned into a squeak as Ian’s hands landed on his ass the second he was settled. “Your fucking ass, Mickey,” Ian groaned out, fingers digging in as he pushed and pulled at the flesh there. And his fingers might have been thin but they were long, and his palms were wide, and he covered a surprising amount of real estate as he spread his hands wide and squeezed, pulling Mickey’s cheeks apart and sighing.

“Fuck, fuck- Ah!” Mickey nearly squealed as Ian released a cold puff of air against his hole, clenching up reflexively even as he pushed himself back into Ian’s hands.

“So sweet, can’t wait to make you come,” Ian growled, and Mickey’s startled laugh cut off in a moan as Ian licked firmly over his hole. Ian hummed and then did it again, more slowly, flicking the tip of his tongue over the edge of Mickey’s rim.

Mickey whined high in his throat, bracing his elbows against the mattress and trying to push back into it the next time Ian’s tongue moved over him. “O-oh, god- fuck,” he gasped, thighs shaking at the strain of holding himself up, still half-sprawled over the edge of the bed. Inside, Ian’s chest was buzzing, burning, glowing with pride at the noises he was already wringing from Mickey’s responsive body.

It drew a frustrated groan out of Mickey when Ian refused to move any faster, just kept licking him slowly and firmly, curling his tongue just a little harder against Mickey’s rim with every pass. Ian’s fingers dug in harder when Mickey tried to rock back against him, trying to get more, anything. More of Ian’s breath hot and close against his skin, Ian’s nails digging sharp red crescents into his skin and his tongue slick and wet, working Mickey open painfully slowly.

“Gallagher- “ Mickey bit out again, trembling all over as he tried in vain to push himself back against Ian’s tongue and fuck, Ian was barely licking into him and already Mickey was losing his mind, nearly wailing when Ian’s tongue stabbed into him, deep, wet and demanding even as Mickey clenched around him, and then it seemed like all he could do to mask his sound of loss when Ian withdrew. Ian crooked one long finger in, feeling Mickey from the inside, like he was checking to see if his sofa would fit into a new apartment.

“Shouldn’t be in such a hurry,” Ian said, voice rough and just loud enough for Mickey to hear it over his own heaving breath and the music still pounding in the next room, “I’m gonna be here for awhile.” He circled the very tip of his tongue around Mickey’s hole, just tracing around and around while his fingers probed and flexed until Mickey let out a whimper and wriggled, trying to jerk back against him.

Then Ian plunged back in again, licking Mickey open in earnest as his hand pried Mickey’s cheeks even further apart. Every shaking moan and gasp that burst from Mickey’s lungs just egged him on, had him pressing in deeper, scraping his teeth over Mickey’s rim as he pressed in close and then flicked his tongue against the sensitive skin on the withdrawal. He had added a second finger, and thought Mickey was probably ready for three.

“Shit- holy fuck-“ Mickey groaned out, fingers catching and clawing at the sheets every time Ian’s tongue and slick fingers wiggled back into him. He was rocking back, probably unconsciously, wanting to shove himself back harder but Ian just moved with him, keeping the pace exactly what he wanted it to be. 

“Shit, please, please- fuck, oh fuck that’s so good, please-“

Ian huffed out a laugh against his skin, breath hot, and teased his tongue in little circles, just barely dipped inside him, until Mickey choked out a desperate noise and his legs threatened to give out. No matter how much Mickey begged, how much he pled and arched and moaned, Ian just kept fucking going. Mickey’s whole crack was sloppy and wet, spit sliding all the way down to his balls and his poor neglected cock leaking against the sheets every time his hips jerked forward. His hole was a warm, rosy red color, stretched and inviting. Ian wasn’t sure when it had happened but one of Mickey’s knees was hitched up on the edge of the mattress, spreading him wide for Ian’s tongue, his arms wrapped up around his head as his every breath came out a hitch.

Finally confident he had Mickey eating out of the palm of his hand, Ian pulled back, watching Mickey’s oversensitive hole twitch and clench in the cool air. “Still with me, Mick?” Ian asked, voice rough and amused, fingers digging in a little harder along the bottom swell of Mickey’s ass.

“Fucking- fuck you,” Mickey choked out.

“You wanna come like this?” Ian asked, dragging the pointed tip of his tongue over Mickey’s hole. “What do you think, you want more?”

“More,” Mickey gasped out as if he didn’t even have to consider.

“Good answer,” Ian said, dropping a quick kiss to Mickey’s wet hole and pulling away entirely. “Wiggle up and roll over for me,” giving Mickey’s ass a little shove and then laughing as Mickey loose-limbed-flailed his way up onto the bed.

“Look at you,” Ian said as he gazed down at Mickey, voice low and awed. He found the lube on the bedside table ( _Mickey’s big green dildo must see a lot of action, he mused_ ) and crawled up onto the bed, lube and a condom in hand, to settle between Mickey’s splayed legs.

“You look so damn gorgeous right now,” Ian continued, smirking wide. “All flushed an’ desperate for me, could just stare at you all night. So damn hot.”

“Gallagher.” Mickey was making an effort to make his voice sound serious, but Ian could see his hips jerking up under the weight of his heady gaze, “I might actually die if- fuck, if you don’t get me off in some spectacular fashion. Preferably soon.”

“I do like a challenge,” Ian said, then leaned over Mickey to grab one of the pillows from the head of the bed. Mickey was too boneless to help as Ian shoved the pillow under his hips, leaving that ass in the air completely exposed to Ian’s dark stare as he ripped the condom foil open and rolled it onto himself, adding a drizzle of lube.

“C’mon Firecrotch. We gonna chit chat some more or you gonna get one me?” 

Ian knew Mickey was just trying to goad him into acting, but he refused to be rushed. Mickey let out a gasp as Ian slowly and carefully pressed close, the throbbing head of his cock nudging up behind Mickey’s balls and the thick shaft sliding over his clenching hole. 

“Holy fuck,” Mickey groaned, fingers digging into Ian’s shoulders and tugging at him shakily, “Seriously, what- get the fuck up here and kiss me, you shit.” Ian is laughing as he obediently moved up, cock sliding up the crease of Mickey’s hip until it pressed stickily along Mickey’s own leaking cock and then kissed him, deep, patiently just giving Mickey more chances to back out..

When Ian pulled back Mickey hissed, but Ian just focused on lubing himself up some more, just to be careful, the slick sounds audible over the music and Mickey’s raspy breathing. 

Ian hooked one hand under Mickey’s knee where his leg was already pushed up, using the other to press the fat head of his cock against Mickey, slick with spit and lube. “You ready?” Ian asked, trying to steel himself against the inevitable rejection, as he rubbed his cock over Mickey’s hole, letting it barely catch on the rim before sliding away again, “You can still say no if you want.”

“Would you just-“ Mickey tried to snap only to break off in a moan when Ian just barely pressed inside him before sliding away again, just a teasing taste of what Mickey so clearly wanted. Mickey’s leg was shaking where one of them was wrapped around Ian’s hip, the other still pushed up in Ian’s firm hold. “Ian, fuck-“

“I’ll stop if you tell me to, Mickey,” Ian said, voice deceptively soft considering Mickey was legitimately driving him insane.

“I- fuck, oh-“ Mickey cut himself off with another breathy noise as Ian’s cock pressed slowly into him, pushing his body to make space for him around the wide head. There was already lightning shooting up Ian’s spine, every breath coming out as a great gasping pant and there was a small part of him convinced that this wasn’t going to work, that he was going to die a sexually frustrated, single freak. That didn’t stop him from raising his arms, stretching up until he could reach the headboard and using that tiny bit of leverage to slide a little more deeply into Mickey, who gasped out “I want it, please- fuck I w-want it so bad- Ian!”

“Easy, nice and slow, Mick,” Ian says, rolling his hips, anxiously listening to Mickey’s high groan as he pressed in a little further, making sure the pale body below him wasn’t in any discomfort. Mickey made another soft sound as Ian did it again and the head of his cock finally popped inside.

Ian held his breath, body still, waiting. When Mickey just gripped his arms, taking his own turn to dig blunt nails into skin, Ian pulled back, teasing the ridged head against the rim until Mickey had to choke down a wet sound. 

“God you look so good like this,” Ian admitted, finally pressing forward again, just a little bit, sliding in just a little bit deeper, “so fuckin’ pretty, like you don’t even know if you can take it but you want to anyways. Doin’ so good, Mick,” Ian said, hearing his own voice gone a little shaky, “so perfect, feel so fuckin’ good, Mickey, so hot and perfect for me.” He pulled back nearly all the way, ignoring Mickey’s foot digging into Ian’s thigh trying to spur him on in favor of just hovering there, head of his cock barely holding Mickey open as he reached over to poured some more lube directly onto his cock, spreading it evenly before pushing back in again, just a little deeper than before. “About halfway there,” Ian said, brow furrowing at Mickey’s answering squeak, “You’re so good, doin’ so perfect Mickey. We can stop here, it’s fine-”

“No!” Mickey groaned out instantly, “Don’t you fuckin dare stop- fu-uck, oh!” Ian pressed deeper, and then deeper. Mickey’s eyes finally squeezed closed as if he couldn’t take it anymore, and Ian froze. 

“Please,” Mickey moaned, rocking his hips up and then whimpering when Ian slid deeper, bright little burst of aching pleasure shooting up his spine, and Ian is so close, so close to tumbling over that ledge. “Please, Ian, I can’t- I need, please-“

Somehow, Ian knew Mickey wasn’t saying ‘stop’, he was saying _don’t_ stop, _never_ stop, more, please.

“Breathe, just breathe,” Ian said, rocking forward a little harder and Mickey drew in a great shaking breath, and then snapped like a rubber band. The air all rushed back out of him as a wailing moan and he writhed against the sheets, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to press closer or try to wiggle away and either way he was caught in place by Ian’s giant cock spearing him open. 

Ian knew this moment, intimately. It was as far as he’d ever gotten without someone giving him a sign of distress, and for that alone a little part of him would always cherish Mickey. Unwilling to give up the prize, but equally averse to hurting Mickey, he held himself very still, lavishing praise. “Fuckin’ gorgeous Mickey, so good for me.”

Ian watched Mickey’s face carefully, and when Mickey pried his eyes open again, Ian dipped down to steal a kiss. “Just relax, I’m gonna take care of you, I’m good if you’re good.”

“Told you, asshole,” Mickey bit out, “want you to fuck me.” 

_Did he mean it? Was he putting on some weird hero act, sacrificing himself on the altar of Ian’s stupid dick?_

Hesitantly, he rocked into the man below him again, relishing the tight grip and slick slide, studying Mickey’s face for signs of discomfort.

“Fuck me, fuck me,” Mickey moaned out, “God, Ian, please, please, I need you-“

“Then breathe, Mickey,” Ian growled and shoved Mickey’s knees nearly to his chest when he tried to arch up, trying to force Ian to move faster. Mickey sucked in an obedient breath, entire body trembling, and Ian rewarded him by snapping his hips forward once, punching a loud, obviously pleasurable, groan from his chest, if the spurt of precum dripping from Mickey’s neglected cock was anything to judge by.

Mickey dragged in breath after labored breath as Ian rocked his hips faster, out and then in, out and then in. Ian’s brain was melting, another wave of heat spreading through him every time his cock slowly pushed back into Mickey, spreading him wide and pressing so fucking deep.

Ian stroked his hands up the back of Mickey’s thighs as he picked up his rhythm enough to have Mickey moaning helplessly on every steady thrust. “Loosenin’ up so good for me, you’re so fuckin’ perfect Mick, knew you would be,” he continued with an almost dreamy sigh.

Mickey nodded, wordlessly encouraging Ian to give him more. Ian’s next thrust lived up to that promise, slamming into him, all the way in one smooth slide that had Mickey screaming, head snapping back. Seeing that Mickey had taken all he had to give - something broke loose in Ian’s chest, some chain or barrier that had been holding him back for his whole life. And then Ian didn’t stop, thrusting into Mickey again and again, using his full body weight to hold Mickey curled down around himself as he fucked down into him. 

“Does that feel good, Mickey?” He demanded, needing to hear it, the confirmation, the affirmation. 

“Fuckin hell, Gallagher,” Mickey groaned, “that- that all you got?”

Ian raised an eyebrow, hips stilling in surprise.

“You want it harder? Want me to make you feel it for a week? Feel me every time you breathe?”

Mickey nodded, surging up to suck biting kisses into Ian’s skin.

The sensations registered dimly, every one of them just another frisson of heat down Ian’s spine, settling heavy in his gut, winding him tighter and tighter until he didn’t know how he hadn't already snapped. He gave it to Mickey as hard as he wanted, as hard as they _both_ wanted. Until he could feel his orgasm building in his eyes and everything was too much and not enough all at once, every inch of him filled with agonizing pleasure, right at the edge and unable to fall and his next breath came out a sobbing, desperate moan and he faltered a little before Mickey’s needy moan urged him on again.

“‘S that a good thing? You good?” Ian asked, finally sounding breathless, hips slamming against Mickey’s ass in time with Mickey’s wet groans and when Mickey just quirked a grin, he huffed, leaning back enough that it was just the head of his cock fucking in and out of Mickey, not nearly enough. “Go on Mickey,” he insisted in a low voice, smirk spreading across his face and eyes dark, “tell me how it feels, tell me what you’re feelin’.”

Mickey just gaped at him for a minute, mouth already hanging open around non-stop moans. Ian wasn’t going to mention it, but Mickey was drooling, a little bit, his eyes wet and his cock leaking constantly against his own stomach, testament to how sincerely he was enjoying Ian. _Ian’s cock._

Obviously needing more, Mickey managed to gather all the brain power he possibly could and finally keened out “Ian-“

“Damn straight,” Ian growled and slammed back into him, grinding in deep before resuming his fast and hard rhythm. He shifted one of his hands from Mickey’s thigh, instead circling the base of Mickey’s dick 

“God- fuck that’s so good,” Ian groaned, thrusts going uncoordinated as he fucked into Mickey harder, fucking the air straight out of his lungs. “Now come for me Mickey,” he demanded, refusing to come until Mickey did, dragging his fingers up Mickey’s cock in one smooth pull and grinding in deep.

Mickey came hard as he writhed in Ian’s hold, forcing Ian to shove him back down or risk being knocked away. And apparently the orgasm loosened his tongue, because with every pulse of come from his dick Mickey moaned and sobbed out a string of nonsense, culminating with Ian’s own name.

And Ian just fucked him through it, driving himself into Mickey’s clenching body watching Mickey reduced to breathy gasps, his chest hitching and streaked in his own come. “God that’s incredible, such a fuckin’ sight, knew you’d be so gorgeous, fuck- Mickey-“ And then Ian pressed into him, deep, so deep, and came with a drawn out moan, thick cock twitching and pulsing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap for those who don't read smut: All of Ian's previous lovers have complained about his big dick, and he feels that he'll never have good sex as a result. Mickey proves this wrong. In spades.


	14. No Timer. Yawn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch 14 - Post sex and Carl meets someone new.

Ian laid on the messy bed, now with a few added DNA deposits of his own making, staring at the ceiling, chest heaving. It hadn’t been a one-off. They’d just finished round two and if anything it was better,  _ hotter _ , because now they both had known that Mickey could, would,  _ wanted to _ , take anything and everything Ian had to give.

“How are you so good at fucking and so bad at everything else?”

Mickey was stretched out on his front, chin propped on one elbow, watching him. Ian thought he could feel those impossibly blue eyes trace the muscles of his chest and torso.

The automatic answer, the truthful one, popped out of his mouth. “You think I’m good at sex?”

Mickey just rolled his eyes, then seemed to recognize that Ian wasn’t actually fishing for compliments. He lit a cigarette, and sucked on it for a moment, considering, before he answered. “Look, whoever you slept with before-”

“They sucked, I’m kinda getting that now.” Ian knew he had a goofy grin on his face, but  _ fuck _ , his whole world view had just be rocked in all the best possible ways.

“Ey, look, it’s not  _ that  _ big. You’re not the hulk or some shit. But not everyone’s into that kinda thing is all. And maybe you just got shit luck, or bad taste in men.”

Ian raised an eyebrow, and they shared a wry smile.

“Ok, you  _ had  _ bad taste in the past. Maybe you still do- had to drag you here kickin’ and screamin’, didn’t I?”

Ian sobered, remembering why he’d been so resistant to hooking up with Mickey. Even with the revelatory sex they’d had, the weight of that short time limit, of Mickey’s impending soul-mate connection still hung over the room. Not wanting to think about he scrubbed one hand over his face, trying to wake himself up for the ride home.

Before he could formulate an excuse to leave, Mickey had sat up, pulling on a discarded pair of boxers from the floor, and stepped to the door. “Be right back, gotta get something.”

The pounding music from the living had cut off about halfway through round two, leading to a very audible moan from Mickey that had them both in giggles, but now it meant Ian could listen in on Mickey’s conversations with his brothers in the next room.

“How’s that straight-ass sex comin’?”

“Ain’t you been listening to the moaning? Our boy’s been turned  _ out _ !” This was a male voice, practically cheering.

“Didn’t think the ginger had it in ‘im.”

“He didn’t, but Mickey did.”

Rough guffaws chased this jibe.

“Listen assholes, I got him here, and I got to witness the most glorious dick I have ever laid my hands on, and then-”

“Jesus, fuck, Mickey, please stop talkin’ about his dick!”

There was an inaudible murmur, Ian couldn’t tell whose voice was speaking except that it wasn’t Mickey, because he responded, “Ian’s bitch-ass ex who couldn’t even take God’s gift as it was intended.”

“Hey man, the path to true love can take many roads.”

“And if that road leads to big-dick-accommodating assholes like you? Well, then, shit.”

It sounded like more than just taunting, it sounded like a weird form of sibling affection. Ian had guessed Mickey’s brothers accepted his sexuality, based on Mickey’s Big Green Dildo, but still. 

He wondered what it must be like to have a whole polo team cheering and supporting and good-naturedly teasing. He had Carl on his side, and kind of Debbie, even if they were polar opposites on their blank TiMER situations. But Fiona, Lip, even Liam, had all crossed the broad river between people who had found their One and the great unwashed, unloved masses who had not. 

Sighing, Ian gathered up his clothing to redress. He was pretty sure Mickey wasn’t inviting him to a sleepover.

-

The next morning at the house, while Ian grabbed some much needed rest in his own bed upstairs, someone was pounding on the door. Carl reluctantly left his bong to go see what all the fuss was about. A woman stood on the other side, hand raised to knock again. She had on a gray hoodie and jeans, wavy blond hair pulled back from her face with some kind of clips. 

Realizing he’d be caught perusing her body, Carl reined it in, and grinned, asking, “What can I do for you?”

“Um... I'm here to see Lip.” She was biting her lip, and Carl thought maybe it was deliberate, maybe she was trying to draw his attention to her lips?

“Oh, he's  probably napping. So.  Where are you from, originally?”

“I’m from West Town, but I work at the university.”

“I love how you say that, like there's only one in the whole city.” He smiled, giving her all his teeth and sincerity, even as he heard heavy footsteps coming up behind him in the house.

Lip elbowed Carl to the side of the doorway, and he held his midsection, faking hurt, but Lip just ignored him.

“Hey. You,” he pointed a finger at Carl, “lay off my friend here.”

“What, you cock-blocking me, Lip?”

“She's here to  humor her elder, not  flirt with the help.”

“ _ She _ can make up her own mind.” Lip rolled his eyes, ducking back into the house.

“So, what's your name?” Carl leaned on the door frame, hands crossed in front of him.

“Uh, Steph.” The woman seemed split between appreciation and confusion at his interest

“Steph. I'm Carl.” He held out a hand, his TiMER clearly visible.

“Hey, Carl.” As she reached out to grasp his hand for a shake, he could see her wrist was empty, and he pulled his hand away at the last minute, like he was playing a trick on a kid going for a high-five.

“Ooh. No Timer. Yawn.” Carl let his mouth fall open in an exaggerated yawn, bringing one hand up to fake-cover it, grin gone.

Lip had pulled on his coat, and returned, casually pushing Carl out of the doorway onto the porch in his stockinged feet.

“Told you I was looking out for you, Carl. I know your type. Come on, Steph. The stock market won't play itself.”

Lip threw an arm over Steph’s shoulders, pulling her down the stairs. That was weird, usually Lip didn’t touch anyone but his One.

Carl gave the two a little wave goodbye. “Nice  meeting you.”

Steph turned her head, looking back at him, “Likewise.”


	15. The closer they get to D-Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Carl debrief after Ian's encounter with Mickey  
> This is chapter 15 - please go back and read the REAL chapter 14 now!

Ian was fast asleep on his bed, splayed out, a hickey clearly visible on his neck. His mouth was moving just a little as he dreamed, either talking or maybe just mouthing at something or someone. 

He looked like he was having pleasant dreams at last. Carl poked him between the eyes with his fingertip.

Nothing happened, though Ian’s mouth stopped its minute movements.

More firmly, Carl poked him between the eyebrows.

Ian opened his eyes, pulling back minutely as he saw Carl’s face inches from his own.

  
“Oh, you're up.” 

  
“Oh, you're an ass.” Ian groaned, and tried to wriggle back down into his blanket. Carl already had a counter measure, as he stood and yanked open the threadbare curtains, letting in sunlight to shine directly on Ian’s face.

“Now that you’re awake, you can tell me where you went last night.”

Ian laughed and covered his face with his hands. He shook his head, and lifted the blanket, peering down at his own body, then dropped the blanket back down. He felt his own cheeks hurt a little, from smiling, and he rolled away from Carl, curling his body up with another laugh. It was a weird physical sensation of happiness, utterly unfamiliar.

Carl’s face was mad, almost pissed. “Oh, my god! Tell me what you did or I'm  gonna piss on your bed!” He threw a light punch at Ian’s stomach, but pulled it at the last second, as Ian knew he would.

Ian sighed, turning back to him to explain, “I met this guy…”

Perking up, Carl asked the obvious next question. “Timer?”

Ian murmured his agreement, staring dreamily at the ceiling, picturing Mickey’s bright eyes. 

“How long?” Carl rested his chin on one cupped hand. 

“Huh?”

“His TiMER. How long does he have?”

Ian scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the stubble there, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes to wake himself up for the inevitable 

“Oh, four months, and some change.” 

“That’s perfect,” Carl stated definitively. “The  closer they get to D-Day the more  inclined they are to let you throw em'  around a  li l bit.”

“Ugh, it was so hot. It was just so… unbelievably hot. He  kisses like, um… Uh, I don't even know. And his ass!” Ian’s hands were flexing at the sense-memories, like he could feel the smooth flesh again. He sucked in a deep breath, knowing he was on the verge of a groan and cock-stand, despite having come three times last night, the final time almost dry.

Carl pressed a fist to his mouth, “I'm so  proud of you. Seriously, Ian. You  finally got laid proper. See? One  night stands. That's what it's all about. My boy’s finally growing up.”

Reflecting, Ian wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, though, I don't really know if I'd  classify it as a "one  night stand" though.”

Shaking his head in consternation, Carl pressed the point. “Uh, well, you're not gonna see him again, right? Ian? Right?”

Ian bit his lip, staring at the ceiling, not making eye contact.

“Seriously, Ian? Even if your  mismatched Timers weren't a  recipe for disaster, he's not  gonna want a repeat of last night, they  never do.” Carl paused, watching Ian blink as a wave of sadness washed over his face like a cloud passing in front of the sun. “But! You had fun, right?”

“Yeah, no, it was so fun. Fun.” Ian’s tone belied his words. He wanted to change the subject, badly, so he offered Carl food. That was usually all it took. “You want banana pancakes?”

“Uh, when do I not want banana pancakes?” Carl leapt up, leaving Ian alone again with his thoughts.


	16. The Next 24 Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam is one step closer to meeting his One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note yesterday I uploaded the wrong chapter, so 14 is NEW as is 16, but 15 is NOT. Sorry :(

Late that night, Fiona and Liam sat on the couch, watching his TiMER countdown. Debbie was perched on the armchair, Ian and Carl were in the kitchen eating the leftover pancakes from their breakfast, listening to the countdown as midnight approached. It was the night before Liam fated to meet his One, and the house had an extra buzz of excitement in the air.

“Ten.”

“Nine.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

“Six.”

Ian strolled into the living room, holding his plate in one hand, a fork loaded with cold pancakes in the other. There was no way he was going to miss this. Carl, predictably, was chowing down at the kitchen table, enjoying the space with plenty of elbow-room, for once.

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Midnight!” All the Gallagher’s in the room joined in, announcing the time and cheering loud enough to bother the neighbors, if they’d lived in a different sort of neighborhood. But in the Southside, noise at the hour was the norm, though rarely so cheerful.

The cheers couldn’t drown out the sound of Liam’s TiMER zeroing out, however. 

“Deedle Le Dee! Deedle Le Dee! Deedle Le Dee!”

“K, Liam. The next time it  makes that noise is when you’re in touching range with your One,” Fiona explained. Liam rolled his eyes. He knew that already, everyone knew how the TiMERs worked. Everyone on the planet talked about the last time they’d seen two people match in public, it was like a soap opera with a new episode every time they walked outside.

Lip was ready with a warning, “But it'll be much louder. Scared the shit out of me. Be ready.”

Liam seemed underwhelmed by the process, asking “Can I go to bed now?”

His reaction flummoxed Fiona, she couldn’t imagine how someone could be so laidback about finding their soulmate. “Honey… How can you sleep? This is  better than Christmas! Sometime in the next 24 hours You are  gonna meet the girl that you will  spend the rest of your life with!”

“Or guy,” Ian added, trying to be helpful, taking another bite of cold pancakes.

“Or guy!” Fiona agreed too quickly.

“Yeah, ok. G’night.” Liam leff his siblings in the living room, walking up the steps like a man condemned to death, not a young person in hand’s reach of fate.

Ian wondered for a moment if his, Carl’s, and Debbie’s predicaments had negatively impacted Liam’s view of soulmates. Shouldn’t the examples of Lip and Fiona be enough to counteract their tribulations? He headed back into the kitchen, and Fiona trailed behind him.


	17. The soul-crushing pain of unreciprocated infatuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian debriefs Fiona on his date with Ned and Liam comes home, having met his One.

“So, Ian, how did it go with Ned?” Fiona stood with her back to the table where Carl was still inhaling cold pancakes. Ian stood between them, the middle child caught symbolically and literally between Carl’s laissez faire attitude and Fiona’s determination. He tried to answer Fiona honestly, without insulting Ned more than was necessary.

“It was... okay. I don't  really think there's much there. We don’t have much in common.”

Fiona was undeterred. “Well, you can't be sure until he gets his TiMER. No  stone unturned, sweetface.” She moved from the fridge to the sink, pouring out a bottle of milk that had gone past its expiration date, releasing a small cloud of sulphurous fumes into the air. Carl made a faint gagging noise, but didn’t stop shoveling food into his mouth.

Ian knew the only way to head off a lecture was to agree, so he tried that first. “Sure, okay, Fi.” It didn’t work. She spun, facing her two brothers, elbows propped on the messy counter.

“Look, guys, you don't realize how lucky you have it. Your generation has been spared the emotional carnage of divorce. The soul-crushing pain of unreciprocated infatuation. The humiliation. Not to mention possible venereal fallout of reckless promiscuity. I mean, jesus, look at Frank and Monica.”

Ian and Carl traded a look, the look that said they’d heard this speech before, from Fiona, from Frank, from Lip, even on a rare occasion from Monica. Yeah, yeah, the past was so bad, that being TiMERless, having a blank TiMER, or knowing you wouldn’t meet your One until you were in your 40’s was the preferable option. It didn’t feel like the preferable option to Ian, it felt like a new type of torture device, one that bound him to a specific future, kept him from starting his life until the riddle of his One was solved. He couldn’t even imagine how Carl felt about the whole thing, not really, despite his good nature and apparently positive outlook, it had to be wearing.

Fiona seemed to be waiting for a response, and as Carl was keeping his mouth full and occupied, it fell to Ian. “Yeah, it used to be so awful.”

Carl nodded, talking around a mouthful. “What a mess.” 

Their eldest sister nodded sagely, content in having dispensed her wisdom in an attempt to cheer, comfort, or otherwise control her brothers’ emotional well-being. Yet again.

* * *

When Liam got home from school the next day, Fiona, Ian, and Carl were once again together, back in the living room. They’d been nominally going over their schedules, discussing who would buy groceries, who would cook meals for the week, and who would kick in how much for the bills. Somehow, Lip always managed to be taking care of Freddie during these conversations, and Debbie was always  _ ‘out’  _ somewhere. 

When the front door opened, and Liam slung his backpack down on the floor, three pairs of eyes were on him, a mixture of hope, curiosity, and empathy. It must have felt weird, because Liam actually started the conversation.

“Well, I met her.” He sounded oddly unenthused, mostly just tired, to Ian’s ears. 

_ That wasn’t right, was it? _

“And? Who is she? Do we know her? What was it like?” Fiona asked a million questions like Liam was being grilled by a paparazzi, and their youngest brother just sighed in response, waiting for his chance to answer.

“It was weird, and everyone was staring.”

“What’s she like? She hot?” Ian smacked Carl in the stomach with the back of his hand, making him double over.

“I dunno, she seemed cool, I guess.” Liam headed up the stairs to his room, leaving his siblings confused in his wake, staring at the space he’d stood in.

“That’s it?” Ian had expected, well,  _ more _ . Some kind of spark in the kid. 

“I guess that’s it.” Fiona sighed, turning back to the grocery list in front of her.

“He doesn't even have  chest hair, and he just met the girl he's supposed to grow old with. Least it happened before he turns gray.” That  _ was  _ bitterness in Carl’s voice, Ian was certain.

“He has no idea of what love is.” Crossing his arms, Ian thought back to his hook-up with Mickey, the casual, playful banter, the jokes, and the kisses, until Fiona’s voice brought him back.

“Do  either of you two?”

After a moment, Carl slowly shook his head; Ian copied the movement. He was keeping his thoughts to himself, for now. No need to open himself up to ridicule from Carl and dismal from Fiona for possibly having feelings for someone who wasn’t his One.

“Exactly. Every once in a while, I'm the  person most qualified for the job.” Fiona’s tone held all the Elder Sibling condescension she was capable of, as she grabbed the list and went back to the kitchen to look in the cabinets again, checking her tallies over.

“God, I love it when she's fierce like that.” Carl was being sarcastic, but Ian did love Fiona for trying, for having principles, hopes and sticking to them. “Seriously, do you  think it's weird that we've never been in love?”

The question from Carl surprised Ian, and he answered without thought. “No, not really. It only  happens once, so we're due, is all.”

“Yeah, sure, but, like, do you  think that they  thought like that… that it only  happens once, before the TiMER? I'm just saying, like the expression "first love" does imply there's  seconds and thirds.”

Ian hadn’t considered that, whether first loves, and second loves were things, so much any more, and whether he wanted those, or… he exhaled deeply. “You're so  asking the  wrong guy.”

Carl flipped him off. “No fucking help to me at all.” 


	18. As many more times as you let me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise in the parking lot turns into some necessary conversations.

It was dark when Ian left work that night, he’d been on call since 3pm and now it was after 11. He was tired, he had various bodily fluids on his uniform (and not the fun ones), and all he wanted was to get some food, take a shower, swallow his meds, and get some rest. Lip and Tammi and Freddie were at her family’s tonight, and he was envisioning a night of rest and comfort, when a hand reached out of the darkness and grasped his shoulder. Ian turned, swinging a clenched fist at his would-be attacker.

“Surprise!” That voice- Ian was just barely able to check his swing, and he still scuffed his knuckles on Mickey’s cheek before snatching his arm down, hoping they could just ignore his little freak-out in the dark.

“Motherfucker! You just hit me in the face!”

“Hey, sorry, you surprised me. Wait- why'd you-- What are you doing here?” Ian was stuttering because he was confused, it was late, he was tired, and Mickey’s face was the only thing he could focus on, blue eyes that practically glowed in the streetlights. 

“Dunno, man. I just wanted to see you again.” Accompanied by a massive shrug of those shoulders that Ian knew he would fit in his palms so beautifully...

“But why?”

Mickey’s eyebrows did the explaining this time, sort of scrunching down, even as his mouth quirked in a half grin, hands out and empty.

“You make a strong case,” Ian conceded, and unlocked his car to let Mickey in.

Before starting the car, he took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something.”

Mickey tensed up, fingers clutching the door handle as if expecting to jump out of the car at any moment. “Yeah?” His voice was thin, reedy with near panic, totally out of proportion to the magnitude of the situation. 

“Yeah, I- fuck, this is weird.”

“It’s fine, firecrotch. I’m no one, right? Just spit out.” Mickey’s voice sounded like the words were being forced from between his clenched jaws.

But he had a point. Mickey wasn’t his One. And someday, Ian would need to have this conversation ( _for real_ , his treacherous mind told him) with someone else. So this was good practice.

Steeling himself, Ian forced the words out. “I have bipolar. Mental illness. I take meds, and it’s pretty well controlled but…”

Weirdly, Mickey’s body had slumped in the seat beside him. Ian peeped from the corner of his eyes, trying to figure out how his big disclosure had gone over.

Mickey let out a hoarse chuckle, but didn’t say anything.

“Hey, Mickey, could you- maybe say something? I’m kinda freakin’ out over here.”

“Relax, man. It’s cool. Your messed up brain don’t bother me.”

Ian was so relieved, he forgot to wonder why Mickey had seemed to panicked at the prospect of a secret revelation.

* * *

At the Gallagher house, Mickey and Ian were creeping around like weirdos, trying not to wake anyone or alert Ian’s siblings. Or at least, Ian was trying to be quiet, Mickey seemed intent on touching every tchotchke in the place, running a finger over each picture, studying them, just putting his hands everywhere, like he was building a tactile mental landscape of the house and its inhabitants.

Inevitably, Mickey touched the broken lampshade, and the whole thing slid off the stand, hitting the floor with a loud bouncing echo that had both of them freezing in place, sharing a horrified glance, then dissolving in laughter. Everything had a slightly blurry aspect that Ian attributed to his fatigue, his fingers craved the feeling of Mickey’s skin and the taste of his mouth and oh, god, had he said that out loud?

He hadn’t, or Mickey had politely ignored him, in favor of picking up one of Freddie’s striped onesies. 

“This yours, big guy?”

“Oh, no my older brother’s kid. He’s not here.”

“Uh, who?”

“My brother. Actually, I have three brothers, one’s with his wife, and the other two are probably asleep upstairs? Also my two sisters, we live together. It’s a lot, sometimes.” Ian ducked his head, painfully aware that it could be considered weird to live at home at his age. Mickey took it all in stride however, and Ian realized Mickey could relate perfectly to living with all one’s siblings at an advanced age. 

“Oh, you guys don't get along then?”

“Oh no, we do. Carl, well, he’s my best friend. Lip’s kinda a dick, but he’s got a lot on his mind, with a kid and wife. Even Fiona isn’t too bad.”

“Is this the kid’s, your nephew’s?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Cute. Whadya think, stripes look good on me?” Playfully, Mickey held the romper up to his own chest, showing off for Ian. 

“I’d rather see you in nothing at all, actually…” All of Ian’s fatigue had been wiped away by the nervous excitement that having Mickey in his house had brought, like carbonation slipping into his veins. 

“We can probably manage that.” Mickey tossed the baby clothing aside and closed the distance between them in the living room, attaching that perfect mouth to Ian’s neck, sucking a kiss to the tender flesh there.

Ian got lost in the hot wet on his skin for a minute, but then he heard Carl’s warning in his mind. 

_Even if your_ _mismatched_ _TiMERs weren't a_ _recipe_ _for disaster…_

He pressed lightly on Mickey’s chest, until Mickey had pulled back, watching his face intently. “Oh. Okay. So how, um… How many more times are we gonna do this?” He suddenly had an urgent need to know what the plan was, so he could prepare himself. They obviously had a built-in expiration date, and if Ian wasn’t careful, if he wasn’t _extremely_ careful, he could be knocked even further off of his painstakingly constructed even-keel of routine, medications, and work.

Mickey gave him a cocky grin, tilting his head to the side. “As many more times as you let me.” Ian wanted to bite the smile from his lips, but he forced himself to get the words out.

“Okay, um. See, I-- I'm not like you. I've slept with a total of four men in my life and each time, I've had to face the very real possibility of losing them, and the fallout from that, it’s not pretty for me. And with you, it's actually _not_ a possibility. It's absolute certainty.” He held his breath, knowing that Mickey could easily walk away, decide Ian wasn’t worth the trouble, worth the effort. But he hoped...

Mickey chuckled darkly, head tipped down so he released the puffs of breath to his own chest. “Guess you can relax, then, firecrotch. Can’t lose what ya never had, right?”

Ian laughed awkwardly, wishing they could go back to the easiness of before, that they could just be naked again, anywhere but here in his living room where his sisters and brothers had given him decades of ball taps and wedgies. 

Mickey flicked his eyes up, capturing Ian as usual in the depths of blue. “Wait, um. So you're saying that I'm, uh... I'm lucky number 5?” He was laughing at Ian, but it wasn’t mean, it was just… _Mickey_.

“Yeah,” Ian sighed. 

“Yeah?” Hopefully, blue eyes glanced up the stairs.

Ian grinned, and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Like Mickey still wasn’t sure Ian was in, as if Ian would ever chase him away, until he was forced to let go.

It was Ian’s turn to step to Mickey, tipping Mickey’s face up to his with one crooked finger, as he told him “Shut up.” Without waiting for a response, Ian kissed Mickey, crushing their lips together, sliding his mouth open to taste Mickey’s surreally hot lips, seeking his tongue. 

When they pulled back at last, foreheads pressed together, Mickey whispered to him, “Okay.”

And it was. So Ian said it back, “Okay.” 

Tonight? Here and now? It was all ok.


	19. The weird 3pm hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian spends time at Mickey's place.

The next weeks passed in a sort of fuck-drunk haze for Ian. He remembered to go to work, he remembered to spend time with family, to eat, to take his medication, but the whole time he was doing those other things, his brain was circling around one singular topic: Mickey. 

And not just the physicality of him either, though that thought was never far from Ian’s mind either. It was like his libido had been lying dormant for years until he’d met Mickey, and now he didn’t just want to get off, he wanted to do  _ everything  _ with the other man. 

He wanted to watch Mickey eat food with chopsticks, then throw them down in frustration and use his fingers. He wanted to shower with Mickey, run his fingers through wet dark hair, scrub until bubbles dripped all over both of them and Mickey cursed at him for getting soap in his eyes. Fuck, he even wanted to watch Mickey while he slept; fully aware of how creepy that sounded, he still longed to see the smoothness of his face in repose.

Ian didn’t get to do all the things on his list with Mickey, but there were also unexpected moments, things he’d never even dreamed of including on a wishlist because he hadn’t imagined they’d be possible.

\-- 

One lazy Sunday afternoon, in the weird 3pm hour where they were both physically sated, lying on the bed and just petting at each other, Mickey had the idea to show Ian his drum kit.

Ian sat on the low stool (Mickey refusing to adjust the height for his ‘stupid long legs’). Behind him, arms threaded together, Mickey helped him tap out a simple rhythm on the snare. Once Ian had the rhythm down, Mickey pulled back, letting him continue. Beside his ear, Ian could hear Mickey humming along, with a very few vocalizations thrown in.

_ Hold on hmmm mmmm  _

_ Hmm mmmm mmmm hm hmmm _

_ I don't know what's hm hmmm mmmm _

“What is that?” 

“What’s what?” Mickey had stepped away, lips no longer by Ian’s ear, and his skin missed the warm breath.

“The song, what you’re humming, what was it?”

“S’nothin. A side project.”

Ian spun on the stool, nearly smacking Mickey in face with a wayward drumstick as he asked, “Mick, have you been holding out on me?”

Mickey ducked back, protecting his face with a swat of the hand. “The fuck are you talkin about, Red?”

“You can sing, Mickey. You’re not just a drummer, you can  _ sing _ .”

“And your point?”

“You could have been serenading me this whole time! You could be John Cusak, without the boombox!”

Mickey’s eyebrows drew down, and Ian realized Mickey didn’t know the reference, had never seen  _ Say Anything _ , which turned their lazy Sunday into a late movie night in bed.

Ian might have had tears in his eyes when Diane broke up with Lloyd, but Mickey didn’t mention it, so when Mickey’s eyes were suspiciously bright as Lloyd and Diane sat on the plane holding hands, Ian made a point of pretending he didn’t see.

\---

It was bad. They were just so  _ soft _ . That was the only way Ian could describe it, with the epithet he heard Iggy and Colin toss in Mickey’s direction. But it wasn’t just the mushy, romantic shit.

There were also epic blowjobs, where they took turns edging each other for hours, until both of their cocks were weeping precum, red and throbbing. 

Ian was on Mickey’s ass every hour they were together, it felt like. Mickey refused to admit if he needed respite from Ian’s cock, but Ian made sure to at least alternate between fucking him, having Mickey fuck his face, or getting Mickey off with his tongue and fingers. All gentlemanly and shit.

\---

One morning, coming out of the bathroom, Ian ran into Tony in the hallway. 

“Ey, man, gotta question for ya.”

Ian looked behind himself quickly, just to make sure Tony was talking to him, before replying, “Uh, ok, sure. What’s up?”

“You got one a those, uh, sex addiction things?”

Ian gaped at him, struck wordless.

Tony seemed to sense that Ian was at a loss, so he pressed on. “S’not like we mind you railing Mickey all hours of the day, just seems like you’re here a lot, and even when you two ain’t doin it, you’re watching him like he’s a piece of steak. S’kinda gross.”

Ian almost rose to the bait, thinking the issue was that he and Mickey were men, and if he’d been a woman, Tony would have given his wholehearted blessing. For Mickey’s sake, Ian tried to keep his cool. “I can- I can tone down the looks, if it helps.”

“Nah, man, Mickey deserves someone who thinks he’s hot shit n’ all. S’just weird to watch. Was just wonderin if you had some like, medical thing. Seen you takin’ pills, thought maybe it was a sex addiction?”

He could have dropped to the ground and rolled with laughter, but Tony probably would have really thought Ian had lost it, so he kept it together a minute longer. “No, Tony. That’s a private issue, but you don’t have to worry. It’s not a sex addiction. I just really like Mickey.” He smiled, and after a moment, Tony mimicked the expression, obviously unfamiliar with sharing a polite smile with his brother’s lover in the hallway.

They dropped the smiles, nodded at each other, and went their separate ways, Ian lost in thought, enumerating the things he liked about Mickey. 


	20. 2 am on a Thursday night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Ian and Mickey moments.

When Ian did go home, to refill his meds and check in with family, he mostly just snuck in late at night to crash on his bed and fall asleep with a contented smile.

He never saw Fiona and Lip standing by the bedroom door, staring at his still-blank TiMER in consternation.

In the morning, his stories were usually full of “Mickey did this,” and “Mickey said that,” to the point that Lip refused to talk to him, and Carl only engaged superficially. His siblings all agreed, it was _unnatural_ to be so attached to someone who wasn’t your One. Ian thought maybe they were jealous, so he made sure not to bring Mickey over to the house. No need to rub it in their faces that he was going against their advice.

\--

At 2 am on a Thursday night, Ian and Mickey ran out of lube. They had both been drinking, and though Ian had only consumed two bottles of beer, that was more than enough to make him loose and happy. Mickey hadn’t counted his drinks, but was insistent, _demanding_ that Ian fuck him tonight. Worried about the other Milkovich’s hearing Mickey’s complaints, Ian grabbed coats for each of them and dragged Mickey outside, herding him down the blocks to the 24-hour pharmacy on the corner. 

They were tickled to find out that lube was hidden in the Family Planning aisle, which led to Mickey asking Ian if they were practicing to have a family. Ian giggled, loudly, and the bored overnight cashier snapped her gum and watched them tiredly.

“I’ll show you _practicing_ ,” he growled, as he spun Mickey around so he was facing away from Ian in the aisle, bright fluorescent lights overhead. Ian grabbed Mickey’s hip, thrusting against his ass, bringing his lips down to mouth at the crook of his neck, when his eyes drifted up, meeting the now substantially-less bored cashier’s avid gaze. 

He gulped, and stepped back. 

Mickey made a grunting noise, “Yo, where’d you go?”

“Uh, I’ll tell you back at your place. Let’s pay for this shit.” Ian used his debit card, made the usual pleasant check-out conversation, and accepted his lube in a white plastic bag, all without ever meeting the girl’s eyes. Outside, Mickey lit a cigarette, and Ian snatched it from his fingers, sucking deeply.

Mickey’s eyes watched Ian’s fingers and mouth, and soon enough they were making out in a dark alley like kids.

\---

Sometimes, they would hang out in Mickey’s living room with his brothers, talking, drinking, playing video games, and messing with each other like it was an Olympic sport. They had a newer system than the Gallagher’s did, so Ian faced a steep learning curve to be competitive, but Mickey helped him out by frequently leaning over to swat at Iggy, or smack Colin in the back of the head as a distraction. Tony refused to be distracted by any of his antics. 

When Ian finally won, Mickey kissed him, hard, sliding halfway into his lap, before popcorn and chips came flying at them from three sets of tattooed hands. 

“Get the fuck out of here with that!”

“Don’t have to rub it in our faces that you’re gettin’ laid!”

Ian thought about it a lot, and decided that if this felt so good, meeting his Soulmate would have to be sublime. He truly couldn’t imagine feeling better. 


	21. A 6-foot Hole to Crawl Into

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian have a late-night heart-to-heart.

It was late at night, or possibly early in the morning. Ian couldn’t see the little alarm clock on Mickey’s night table. They’d fucked, they’d slept, woken up with their limbs wound together, and were now face to face under the thick blanket, whispering to each other, feeling a little like having a sleepover with the best friend neither of them had ever had. 

“Fiona got her TiMER when she was engaged to another guy, Tony Markovich, a cop. As, like, proof they shouldn’t get married.”

“Damn, that’s fucked up. But yeah, no way a Gallagher marries a cop.”

“Yeah, Tony wasn’t her one but Jimmy was already married to Estefania, and her dad was really pissed about Jimmy leaving. Jimmy’s TiMER had been blank for years until Fiona got hers, and his suddenly started counting down out of nowhere.”

“They married?”

“No, but Jimmy’s not going anywhere. He and Fiona say meeting your One is more binding than any ring or piece of paper anyway.”

“You still talk to Tony the cop?”

“Nah, he was a tool. Reminded me of Frank, actually. We never had a lot in common. Plus, Frank wasn’t really my dad.”

Mickey sat up on one elbow, looking down at Ian.

“Wait. Hold the phone. Frank’s not your dad?”

“Yeah, no. Monica slept with his younger brother, Clayton Gallagher. Northside financier.” Mickey was gaping at him, so Ian asked, “You okay?”

“Is this a joke? Clayton's a legend!”

Ian huffed out a laugh. “So they tell me. Southside boy makes good, starts as a lowly teller, manages a bank, makes bank, starts his own chain of banks.”

“I've had sex with Clayton Gallagher’s illegitimate son. I'm so much  cooler than I thought.” Mickey flopped back down on the pillow with a grin that Ian had to challenge, so he laid a light slap from the back of his hand across Mickey’s belly. 

“That's like the only cool thing about you,” he teased.

“Ok, asshole, relax with the hands.” 

Ian grabbed one of Mickey’s and lightly kissed the tattooed knuckles before he began his own line of questioning.

“Are your parents still together?”

“Fuck no. They met the old-fashioned way. They had four strapping young sons, and then one shitty girl. Mom OD’d, Terry found a six foot hole to crawl into, and then there’s me, the youngest and least strappingest of the boys. Don’t think either Mom or Terry ever got a TiMER. Can’t imagine Terry having a One, poor bitch.” This was a long speech, for Mickey, and Ian began to wonder more about Mickey’s One. Instead of following that thought any further, he deflected.

“Any of your brothers missing TiMERs?”

Mickey scowled at him, “Why, you  lookin for a date?”

“Guy’s  gotta be proactive, narrow the odds a little. I can't just sit here and feel bad about my  crappy situation.”

“S’not as  crappy as your brother’s.” Ian had told Mickey all about Carl’s TiMER and how he dealt with it.

“Well, I guess.” Ian felt compelled to defend Carl and his behavior. “One could argue that knowing is better than not knowing. Even if knowing is tremendously disappointing. At least he can live his life. Accomplish what he wants, plan for his future.”

“But is that what he's doing?”

“No,” Ian admitted.

“Nah. We all need a little mystery in life,” Mickey mused.

That didn’t make sense to Ian. “Well… If you feel that way, why did you get a TiMER?”

Mickey’s body language changed, closed off somehow. “Some  people lead, I follow, I guess.”

Suddenly, Mickey wouldn’t meet his eyes, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Ian didn’t press, because this, what they were doing, it was only  _ temporary _ . Mickey and his One would have this very same conversation soon, and Mickey would probably tell  _ him  _ all the same silly jokes and - Ian felt himself getting heated. 

Mickey seemed to sense it, turning to face Ian and asking “Why are you so far away?”

“I don't know why.”

“I don't know why either,” Mickey teased

“You're stupid,” was Ian’s devastatingly cutting reply. 

“Idiot.” Mickey’s expressive face was soft, his tone fond.

They traded nonsensical insults for a moment, before Ian dragged Mickey into the hard line of his body and held him there, curling up into the unique scent of his skin and laundry soap and just  _ Mickey _ , whispering, “Shut up.”


	22. Where were you an hour ago?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carl at work.

Carl was on shift at the nursing home, sitting back in his office chair, feet up on his desk, slurping a red ICEE, when his boss, the uptight Dr. Depaul approached with a sour look on his face.

“Mr. Gallagher. Where were you an hour ago?”

Carl kept his face neutral, “Right here, sir.  Doing my job.” Throwing in those sir’s never hurt. “Smile on my face, bein’ all helpful.”

A vaguely familiar blonde woman, far too young to be a resident, was standing behind Dr. Depaul, watching the conversation. 

“Then why did Mrs. Kaufman's call roll over to voicemail three  times in a row?”

The shrug Carl gave seemed insufficient as a response, so he added, “You  gonna take the side of a snitch?” 

_ Who the fuck would tell his boss that he’d missed a couple of calls? What could possibly be that important here? Either they’d call back, or someone was dead. No rush either way. _

“Mr. Gallagher, we don't pay you to be glib, or to  leave your desk unattended.”

The non-resident spoke up. “I'm sorry for interrupting. That was my fault. When I came in, I forgot where my grandfather's room was, and I asked Carl to show it to me.”

“Really?” Dr. Depaul was, rightfully so, skeptical. Heck, Carl was skeptical himself.

But the blonde didn’t quail. “Yep.”

“What's your grandfather’s name?” Obviously, the doc was trying to catch her in a lie, thinking she was Carl’s friend. Maybe she was. He knew her from  _ somewhere _ .

“Dutch Solomon.”

A voice came over the building’s PA system, “Doctor Depaul, please call the lab.”

With a fawningly apologetic nod to the woman, and a glare to Carl, the doctor went on his way.

Carl sipped his ICEE and considered the woman. Where did he know her from?

“You didn't have to do that. I can handle him.”

“Sorry.” She shrugged apologetically. “He just  seemed to be  getting on your  case a  little unnecessarily.”

“Uh, no, it was  necessary alright, 'cause I was gettin’ this bad boy from the 7/11  about an hour ago.”

“Oh, ok, you want me to get him back here? We can just tell him the truth. I know I'll feel better.” 

_ She was teasing him, and he didn’t even mind.  _

“Nah, 'cause then that  would make you a good  influence on me, Miss... Solomon?”

“Carl Gallagher. Please don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten our meeting. Your porch? Your brother? I’m  _ wounded _ , here.” She laid a palm across her chest, drawing his eyes to her cleavage. 

_ He definitely knew that cleavage, but from where? _

“Oh, shit, that was you! Steph, Lip’s fuckin’ friend.”

“Something like that,” Steph rolled her eyes.

“Why’s Lip so interested in you, anyway?”

“I’m part of his research group, plus he seems to think I should be part of his study.”

“Isn’t that all old people who were allergic to TiMER tech, or lost their left hands, or some shit?”

Steph waved her bare left wrist. “Not all old people, actually. Lost my parents and my TiMER in a car accident when I was 15. The thing was still blank, so I didn’t even get a clue as to when I’d meet my One. Now I’m out here doing shit the old-fashioned way, an orphan all on her own.”

“That- that blows, man.” Carl didn’t know what else to say; it was a tragic story.

“Yup. I only have to tell the story sixteen times a week to strangers, so if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go chill with my grandfather, ok?”

Wordlessly, Carl waved her on. 

_ Now  _ **_that_ ** _ was a cool chick. _


	23. TiMERless puppet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie invites Ian to the bar to meet someone, but Ian doesn't show.  
> She and Carl confront him.

Ian’s phone was ringing, an annoying ringtone that Carl had set for him. It had been a commercial jingle that Ian hadn’t been about to get out of his head for a whole summer as a kid. He’d made the mistake of telling Carl one night, and now, everytime his phone went off, “ [ Call Jay Gee Wentworth, eight seven seven cash no ](https://youtu.be/bkORcziEx6g?t=6) w!”

He glanced at the screen to see who was calling, and hit accept. “Hey Debs.”

Instead of a greeting, or inquiry, she hit him with a query. “You  coming by the bar tonight?” Ian wasn’t even sure why he’d expected anything else.

“Uh... I've, uh… Yeah, I don't know, why?” Actually, he was planning to spend some time with Mickey: they had planned a movie night with each of them bringing their favorite fight movie, Van Dam versus Segal. But he wasn’t going to tell Debbie that, because as far as his family knew, Mickey and he were a one-time deal.

“Why? Because you haven't been by in a decade. And  because I might've found your next  TiMERless puppet. Good teeth. Endearingly clueless. No  scars and/or  visible tattoos.”

Yeah, cause that sounded  _ exactly  _ like his type. Ian swore under his breath. 

_ Since when had his type evolved into... Mickey? _

He could tell Debbie was waiting for his commitment. “Uh... Yeah. Okay, I'll, I'll… I'll  swing by.”  _ Maybe _ . 

There was a moment of dead air on the phone, before Debbie spoke again. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me!”

“Why are you being weird?” 

That topic was too big to touch on right now, so he resorted to insults.

“You’re the weird one.” And he hung up on his youngest sister.

\--

Carl had also gotten a call from Debbie, and actually shown up. He’d been surprised to see Lip, Tami, and Steph clustered at the bar with a stranger, chatting animatedly to Debbie.

“Yo, who’s got the shit-factory tonight?”

Tami frowned at her brother-in-law. “Your  _ nephew  _ is with Fiona tonight.”

“Ok, cool. Hey, I’m Carl.”

The stranger put out a hand to shake, “Trevor. Are you Ian?”

“Nah, Carl. Straight. Sorry.

Carl shook the disappointed guy’s hand, before turning to Lip. “You buyin’?”

“Fuck no, buy your own drinks, asshole.”

Carl grinned, and leaned on the bar beside Steph. “Hey, I, uh, I guess I owe you. What's your drink?”

Steph’s face looked like she was suppressing a smile. “I'm  afraid to tell you.”

“I  promise I won't make fun of you.” Carl put up his fingers in a mock-boy scout salute. 

“Just guess.”

“Sex on the beach.”

“Nope.”

“Sex on my face.”

“That’s not even a real drink!”

“Yeah, it is,” Debbie was leaning over the bar, wiping out a glass. “A gross drink, but it’s real.”

Carl continued his guessing game, staring at his sister now. “Red-headed slut.”

“That was funny the first time you made the joke. Keep trying.” Debbie walked over to talk to Lip and Tammi.

“Ok, ok, I think Steph’s drink is a … Suck, Bang, and Blow.”

She did giggle at that. “You're the most inappropriate person I've ever met.”

“So, you  wanna make out?” 

Steph looked surprised. “What?”

Immediately filled with regret, Carl began his apologies. “I'm sorry. I…”

“No, no. It's okay. I just-”

“No, I  should be put down.” Carl buried his head in his hands for a moment, then took the chance to peek at her. She had the same little smile on her face still.

\---

At the empty Gallagher house, Mickey was perched on the arm of the couch, Ian seated in front of him and draped in his lap, as he pretended to give Ian a physical exam. He was feeling around Ian’s neck, ostensibly checking for displaced vertebrae. 

“Ian. You have a  spectacular neck.”

“I know.”

“Does it hurt when I do this?” Mickey rubbed his thumb softly over Ian’s lips.

“No…” Dreamily, Ian gazed up at Mickey. His blue eyes were sharp as he played EMT, checking Ian over carefully.

“Hmm. How about when I do this?” Mickey leaned down, pressing a heated kiss to Ian’s mouth.

“Nope, still doesn’t hurt.” They grinned, foolishly at each other. 

“Better check your throat out, you’ve been using it a lot lately. Say ah!”

Ian obediently opened his mouth, and Mickey peered down, frowning a little.

“You've got a… femur in the way back. And your  tricuspids are excellent.”

Mickey mimed poking a finger into Ian’s mouth, and then pulled it out, looking at it carefully. “I  think I just… got that hangy-ball thing, there, let me just put that back in there.”

It was silly, and it was sweet. Ian looked up at him, and Mickey stopped his exam.

“You ok?”

“I am very ok. Take me upstairs, and I’ll show you.”

“Yeah- yeah, ok.”

Mickey hurriedly disentangled himself and let Ian lead him up to bed.

\---

The first thing he noticed was his bladder, so he carefully extricated himself from Mickey’s lamprey-like grasp and stepped into the hallway, en route to the bathroom. Ian felt someone staring at him. 

Debbie and Carl were standing in the hallway.

“Get over here, you big flake!” Debbie hissed. “Who  raised you? When you say you're gonna be somewhere, you be there!”

_ Where had he promised to be? When had he made the promise _ ?

Oh right, last night, the bar, yet another boring setup.

“Jeez, Debs, God! What's the big deal?”

“The big deal is, you  stood up a  reasonably attractive, shockingly nice,  albeit completely emotionally  stunted man in dire need of true love.”

“He seemed cool,” Carl shared. “Trevor. No TiMER. Sweater vest, but muscles under. Seemed lonely.”

Ian’s eyes widened. 

“Not  like your  sorry ass,” Debbie had to add. She peered at him, at the too-tight tee shirt that didn’t actually belong to any of the Gallaghers.

“What are you wearing?”

“Just a tee shirt.”

“But that’s not  _ your  _ tee shirt. I do the laundry, I know everyone’s shit. That’s not yours.”

“I was sleeping naked, this was on the floor, must be a new one of Liam’s.” Ian lied quickly.

“You don't  sleep naked.” Carl pointed out.

“Yeah, sometimes, I do.” More lies. This was going nowhere good. Soon Mickey would hear them and come out.

“No, you don't.” Debbie insisted. “You  think it  makes a house fire more likely.”

A light came on in Carl’s eyes, as he tried to look around Ian’s body into the bedroom.

“Who's in there?”

“What? Nobody! Nobody's there.”

Hands on hips, Debbie stared him down. “Since when do you lie to us?”

_ Aside from all the time?  _

Ian heard rustling behind him, and a warm hand crept around his waist. Mickey was up.

“Hey. I'm Mickey. You're Debbie and Carl, I guess?”

_ Well, shit. _


	24. Two months and 12 days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation begins (here there be angst).

“Mikey, is it?” The words looked like they were bitter in Debbie’s mouth. Carl had a similarly sour expression. Ian was looking back and forth between his siblings and Mickey with a helpless expression on his face.

“Mickey. Milkovich.” Mickey had crossed his arms across his chest, tattoos on full display, as if adding his surname would impress them, or the ink would be a plus.

Maybe that would raise him in Carl’s estimation, but Ian knew full well Debbie wouldn’t,  _ didn’t  _ approve. Not that he needed her approval, but they’d always shared so much, because of their blank TiMERs.

She refused to give Mickey another glance, instead silently staring at Ian, while Carl seemed to figure out exactly who Mickey was.

“This is the four-month guy, right?” 

Ian and Mickey both winced at Carl’s words.

_ But why would Mickey be sensitive over that? _

Ian felt compelled to defend himself, and Mickey by proxy.

“Yeah,” he admitted, head low. “Two  months and 12 days, but yeah, it's him.”

“Ian. What are you doing?”

“Have you been  seeing him this  whole time?”

Debbie and Carl’s questions came at him like a double assault, and Mickey was just  _ standing  _ there, looking back and forth as the conversation flew.

“Yeah, I have. And it's  _ fine _ . I have it  under control.” Even to his own ears, the reply sounded weak, hollow, and shaky.

Debbie rolled her eyes, Carl tossed his chin, and even Mickey shrugged with his eyebrows over this pronouncement from Ian. 

“ Under control? Hiding a guy from your family is your definition of under control? Jesus, Ian, are you even taking your meds?”

His temper began to rise, bile bubbling in his throat. 

_ Why did they always go to that? Any time he did anything his family didn’t agree with, they just assumed he was off his medication, experiencing an episode. Having a personality, making choices, even making mistakes, those were what all people did! _

“Yo, folks-” Mickey tried to interject, but Debbie steamrolled right over him.

“You are  seriously deluded, my friend.” Her tone was dismissive, belittling, and Ian was surprised at how much the words stung.

“Why?  Because I'm enjoying spending time with somebody? Because I'm not a  total slave to the TiMER?” His whole posture was defensive, but his fists and jaw were tightly clenched as he defended what he had with Mickey.

“No,  because he's  gonna break your  heart into a million tiny  little pieces!” Debbie was in his face now, practically shouting in the hallway. 

Liam stepped one foot out of his bedroom, took a quick look at the four adults, and turned on his heel, closing his door quietly. That said as much as anything Debbie or Carl had or could about how out of character Ian’s behavior was.

“I think-” Mickey tried to break in, participate, but this time Ian was having none of it. He held up a palm in Mickey’s direction, effectively silencing him. Mickey’s face was full of shock, eyes wide, pupils dilating as he was rapidly getting pissed off at the whole Gallagher clan’s treatment of him.

“Still my turn,” Ian barked at Mickey. “Look, I know self-destructive-   
  


“-Yeah, and this is what it looks like!” Carl gestured broadly at Mickey, who growled under his breath and seemed to grow a few inches taller and broader in frustration as he endeavored to get a word in edgewise.

“I  think it  might help if you assholes would just let me-”

“Spit it out, Sparky,” Debbie mocked.

“Mickey-” Ian tried again to hush him, to no avail.

“No, fuckin’ listen to me already! My TiMER-” Mickey fumbled at his wrist, obviously trying to show them all something.

“What  about it?” Carl asked, curious.

Mickey peeled the TiMER off his wrist, and gingerly dropped it on the floor. Ian’s stomach dropped, expecting to see blood, gore,  _ something _ , but Mickey’s wrist looked pristine, with just a tan line where the device had covered. 

Debbie was the first to get it. “Oh my god!”

“Whoa, whoa, dude, no.” Carl looked green, like he was going to be sick right on the hallway floor.

“It-- It's fake.” Mickey looked at each of their faces, holding up his bare wrist, “Look, see? It just, it  sticks on.”

It took Ian a minute to recover the power of speech. “It's fake? You... You're not zeroing-out? You don't have a TiMER at all?” If he’d been mad at his siblings before, all that anger was slowly but surely being shunted in Mickey’s direction. 

Soberly, Mickey answered him, ignoring Debbie’s gloating look. “No, I don't.”

“Uh-oh,” Carl whispered, mostly to himself.

Ian slammed one fist into the wall, leaving a crack in the paint and drywall, matching one Lip had put there years ago. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, Gallagher, wait, I can  explain this-” Mickey’s voice trailed off under the critical gazes of the three Gallaghers.

“No, please, explain.” Debbie put out a hand magnanimously. 

“No no, I can, look. Uh… Joey found these things online, you can just set the TiMER for whatever you want. People who are so obsessed with them, I just figured that it'll take the pressure off.”

Debbie had a snarl on her face as she spat the words at Mickey. “You mean you use it to pick up men,  kinda like a fake  wedding ring.”

“That's actually kinda clever,” Carl mused, before feeling Debbie and Ian’s accusatory glances. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It ain’t like that at all! I mean... Yeah, that's what they're  meant for. But I just  wanted a chance to see if I like the person, and if they like me back. You said yourself, you're  different with TiMERless guys; don't you  think that we got to know each other, for real?”

“Yeah.” Ian gave a caustic nod that was clearly sardonic. “ Except you were lying to me the  whole time.”

Mickey pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing in frustration. When he dropped his hands, his eyes were red and bright, but Ian refused to think about that. 

Mickey turned, capturing Ian’s forearm in his warm grip, eyes pleading. “Is this  where you pull away again?”

“No,” Ian’s voice was tired, defeated. “This is  where I kick you out of my house.”


	25. Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow (Freddie Mercury)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight goes on.

Mickey had stomped down the stairs, Ian trailing behind him, sad, mad, and confused. In the kitchen, the sun barely peeking through the thin curtains, Mickey turned, furious.

“Is this it? You’re over this,  _ us _ , cause I don’t have a TiMER? It didn’t seem to matter before when I had one that was gonna zero out without you!”

“But now that I know you have this  virgin wrist, it's back to mattering.”

“Where’s my shoe,” Mickey muttered, glancing under the table. “ Jesus, ‘virgin wrist’? What the fuck are you  talking about? Who are you?”

He located his shoe, and sat down on the floor, angrily lacing it up. “See, this is why I don't want a TiMER, 'cause it's  fucked up.”

“I need an answer.” Ian said, voice filled with the patience born of deep fatigue, as he leaned against the doorway. “I’m  tired of waiting.”

From the floor, Mickey frowned up at him. “Okay. Okay. Say I get a TiMER, and it says that me and you are  supposed to be together forever and ever that'll  satisfy you, right?”

“Yes.” Ian nodded.

“You're gonna trust a little piece of plastic over what I can tell you, right now?”

“You're not  telling me anything!” His voice was back to being filled with all the pain of the confrontation with his siblings, the feelings of betrayal from Mickey, even the accusation of being off his meds, he poured it all into the words he spat at Mickey.

“ I don’t need a fucking DEVICE to know you’re it for me- I just  _ know _ .” Mickey dropped his head, then glancing up, staring at Ian from the floor. “Why don’t you?”

“I don't even know what that means.” He couldn’t meet Mickey’s eyes, refused to see the emotions swimming in the clear blue. 

“Jesus, Ian.” Slowly, Mickey got to his feet, grabbing his phone. “What do you want from me?”

“A guarantee.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Ian felt secure in his answer. He needed to know for sure, for certain. Needed  _ proof _ . 

“No.” Mickey’s voice was suddenly soft, broken sounding. “Your  problem isn't that I can't give you a guarantee, it's that you can't give  _ me  _ one. You don’t want to have to feel anything, you want a machine to do it for you, to tell you who to love. But it don’t work that way.”

And he left. 

He didn’t slam the back door, didn’t throw back any last cruel words, or pleas. 

Mickey left, and he didn’t look back.


	26. $79.99 plus tax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Carl take a drastic step, when the unexpected occurs.

Two days later, Ian was back at the red and white storefront, but with Carl this time for moral support. They were going to get their TiMERs removed. It seemed like the only logical step, in Ian’s mind. 

Was he still mad at Mickey for the fake TiMER? Sure. But the anger he’d felt had merged with his hurt, and it had been turned towards the whole TiMER industry. He was ready to be done with the whole mess, just take the fucking thing out, let the chips fall where they might. His warring feelings had kept him awake all night. Every time the anger would fade, the sadness would flood in, and it would be Missing-Mickey Hour. Then, after some tears, and maybe some tearful jerking off, he’d be back to rage, mad that Mickey had lied to him, angry that people sold fake TiMERs, and even pissed at fate, that he hadn’t met his One already so he could have avoided this whole debacle.

As they entered the TiMER store, the lady behind the counter brightened appreciably, seeing him with yet another guy.

“Ian Gallagher! Haven’t seen you in a minute, is this your new potential One?” 

“This is my brother. We want our TiMERs removed.” He wasn’t gonna pussyfoot around the topic or make small talk until his determination bled away. 

The woman’s face fell, and a hush fell over everyone else in the room as they side-eyed Ian and Carl.

She quickly recovered her composure. “Of course! Follow me, please.” 

Back in the procedure room, where Ian had so many dreams and hopes dashed, Carl sat on the narrow bed as the woman gave him some perfunctory warnings that Ian ignored, had him quickly sign some paperwork, and then pulled out a device that looked quite a bit like a small, white, plastic slingshot. She pressed it to Carl’s wrist, and in one quick motion, his TiMER was sucked off, leaving a raw, red, angry mark.

It was Ian’s turn next. He sat gingerly on the long bed, a new experience for him. Carl sat on the chair next to the bed, and Ian had a moment of disorientation, feeling reversed, unstable somehow. Then the woman leaned in to talk him through the removal and he was mentally righted again.

“Now Ian, you do realize that once the device is removed, it damages the sensory area irreparably.”

Slowly, her words penetrated, but the meaning didn’t. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Her smile was still there, but grave. “It means you can't get another TiMER implanted. Your other wrist isn't a viable option. One shot's all you get.”

Carl interjected, “Where was that warning when I went?” Ian patted his brother’s knee, trying to placate him. 

He thought about never having a TiMER again. About never hearing that stupid jingle. About Mickey’s words to him.

_Your_ _problem_ _isn't that I can't give you a guarantee, it's that you can't give_ **_me_ ** _one. You don’t want to have to feel anything, you want a machine to do it for you, to tell you who to love. But it don’t work that way._

“Just... OK, hang on.” He turned to face Carl. “Question. Do you think the TiMER actually works, or is it just a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

Carl shrugged phlegmatically. “The chicken, the egg… It's all a big clusterfuck.”

“Ian?” The employee was holding the forms out for him to sign. 

He accepted them, but held them, as if there were a more-than-physical weight in his hands.

“Okay?” He looked at Carl for confirmation.

“Yeah. Just do it.” He signed, and they both turned expectantly to the woman holding the removal device.

“Are you sure?” Ian understood that she was required to check numerous times. 

“Mm-hm.” He couldn’t even form words, but he was committed now.

“Okay.” Her tone was far too cheery for the situation, Ian mused. “Count of three, Ian. One… Two…”

**_Deedle Le Dee! Deedle Le Dee! Deedle Le Dee!_ **

Ian looked at his wrist stupidly. “What... What is that? What's happening?”

“This is crazy!” Carl was grinning. The female employee had a dopey smile on her face too.

_But why?_

“Wha-- what's crazy,” Ian asked, again looking for clarification, exposition, anything. 

“I guess that somewhere, out there, your One just got a TiMER,” the employee explained carefully.

“Fuck!” 

_He’d been so close to- no, he couldn’t think of that now._

Carl poked him in the side. “You're gonna meet him tomorrow! Your One. Tomorrow.”

“No! No, no no. You made a mistake. You just shorted it out or something. I mean, there's no way! That can't be real! Even if it was, it doesn't matter.”

_It couldn’t be real, that was all._

“Maybe it was Mickey, and he's the next person you're gonna see, or… it could be someone else, I guess.” Carl was trying to figure it out, Ian could see, look at all the ways Ian’s life could go tomorrow. But Ian’s mind was still stuck in the kitchen, watching the door close quietly behind Mickey, over and over, in a loop in his head. 

“Either way, you're gonna meet him.” The employee was sitting back on her stool, a smug look on her face.

“You're still getting it removed, right? Ian? Right?” There was a crease of worry between Carl’s brows, but Ian just- he couldn’t-

“I don't-- I don't know. I mean, it's finally happening! To get it removed now, like, wouldn’t that be saying fuck you, to fate?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ian knew he’d fucked up, knew by not having his TiMER removed now, he was basically saying fuck you to his brother, but he couldn’t do it. Not now. 

Coldly, Carl turned. “I'll be in the car.”

Ian let his head fall back on the plastic-covered pillow.

The employee’s chipper voice broke through his distracted mind. “That'll be $79.99 plus tax, for your brother’s removal.”


	27. Comparison is the Thief of Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe doesn't make mistakes. Is there a limit to Ian's ability to trust the universe and compromise?

The next afternoon, Ian stood in the crowded square, looking around anxiously. He glanced down at his wrist, saw he had a few scant seconds left. He scanned the crowd, looking to see who was, potentially, his soul-mate.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. 

_It’ll be fine. It’s fate, and fate doesn’t make mistakes._

The sound that every adult over the age of four knew instinctively began to tinkle from his wrist, and Ian opened his eyes. A moment later he heard the matching ring from somewhere ahead of him, only much, much louder. The jingle was so loud he thought he could hear it echoing off the buildings behind him.

_Wasn’t it supposed to be simultaneous?_

Before Ian could investigate that thought fully, a tall, handsome Black man strode through the crowd, coming to stand inches from Ian. The man reached out a smooth hand cupping Ian’s jaw. Instinctively, Ian wanted to pull back, away from the overly familiar touch, but he steeled himself, stayed put. This man- this was his soulmate. His One. 

“Baby,” the man’s voice was smooth, too, almost practiced, “I was hoping it would be you. Saw you, that hair, wow, and I thought, I hope it’s him.” He flashed Ian a broad grin and ducked his head.

_Baby? Ugh._

Ian stifled his instinctive revulsion.

This man was clearly used to being the most attractive person in the room. Ian once knew how that felt, the easy self-assurance. Now all he felt was mild consternation. The man was attractive, sure, but why didn’t Ian feel that instant connection everyone talked about? Where were the sparks when they touched for the first time? He brushed his worries away, and pulled up a convincing smile.

“I’m Ian. I guess I’m your One.”

“Hi Ian, my name’s Caleb, Caleb Jones.” Twinkling eyes and a bright smile drew him in like prey to a predator.

\--

At first, Caleb seemed fine, great even. He was a fireman, and they bonded over squadroom jokes and their shared public servant roles. Caleb’s family was upper middle-class, but he didn’t seem to look down on Ian for being Southside. 

“I don’t care where you’re from, I’m just glad you’re here.”

_That was good, wasn’t it?_

(Ian’s brain unhelpfully reminded him that accepting where he was from and understanding who it made him were two entirely different things.)

Caleb took the news of his bipolar in stride, mostly. Aside from a few off-color comments, like, “After a little while with me, you’ll be stable without the help of drugs.” 

“The only people who need to use medication are those who haven’t found their One yet.”

“I’ll make you so happy you won’t need any of those things anymore.”

Those ‘things’ were, in order of how unhappy they made Caleb, medication, cigarettes, Ian's slightly more-than-a-buzz cut length hair, beer, daily texting with Carl, biweekly sessions with his shrink, and his work friends. 

Caleb didn’t push too hard, they went on a few dates, getting to know each other. There was warmth there, and a growing interest, but nothing like the burning desires he’d had… before.

_(This is mature love, that was just infatuation, he told himself.)_

Finally, after three dates, they kissed, made out a little in Caleb’s practical sedan, and ended up back at Caleb’s apartment. It was a converted loft, and nicer than anywhere Ian had ever lived, all shiny appliances and open concept floor-plan. 

He gave Ian a quick tour, including the study, where he paused. “The realtor said this place would be perfect as a nursery.”

Ian’s eyes went wide at Caleb’s casual future plans for them. Sure, Ian wanted a kid someday, maybe. Maybe things moved faster when you were with your One, he reminded himself.

They didn’t have sex that night, just sat on the ultra-modern ( _read: uncomfortable_ ) couch that had no stains or worn patches, watching The Batchelor in Paradise. Something about one guy and 14 women whose TiMERS all went off on the same night. The mechanics of the situation didn’t quite make sense to Ian, and he really couldn’t follow the plot at all once Caleb rested his cool palm on Ian’s jean-clad thigh. 

Was this it? Would Caleb be able to accept him, sexually?

_He wasn’t thinking about Mickey, who had revelled in his body. He was_ **_not_ ** _._

Caleb casually stroked over Ian’s (soft) crotch, seemingly uninterested, beyond the work of his hand. Eventually the show ended, and Caleb pulled Ian in for a series of kisses. Caleb was a good kisser, but his mouth felt weirdly cold to Ian, like he’d just been sucking on an ice pop. 

\--

The dating continued, Ian’s anxiety ramping up with each. They tried giving each other hand jobs, but Ian was too in his head to even truly get hard the first time, based on Caleb’s tepid response to his cock. 

_If Caleb was already put off and he wasn’t even fully hard-_

Ian refused to think about that. There were so many things he couldn’t think about these days. He made sure to get Caleb off, though.

Soon they’d progressed to blowjobs. Well, Caleb got blowjobs, Ian gave them, and then Caleb would offer to blow Ian. He’d try _(half heartedly, Ian’s traitorous brain noted)_ and fail to get any real action going on Ian’s dick. Make a soft complaining noise, when Ian brushed his fingertips against his jaw. Then he brought up his TMJ.

Ian understood. Of course he understood. The universe had paired him with a man who couldn’t or wouldn’t suck him off. That was when their sexual progress had stalled out, with Caleb no longer pushing for Ian to fuck him. 

Caleb was a bottom, but he was also interested in switching it up. Ian learned a new word from him, ‘vers’.

Eventually they got to the bedroom, fully naked. Caleb agreed to try taking Ian, and Ian made sure to pull out all the stops in his preparation. Lips, fingers, and tongue should have had Caleb squirming for it, but he just lay there like a limp starfish.

The first time he let go and really thrust, Ian’s heart broke a little, because this was his One and he had to think of Mickey’s ass just to stay hard with Caleb’s pained face staring up at him. Ian didn’t stay over that night, just stumbled into the Gallagher house around 1am, sad and heartsick to have seen the old pinched face that he so dreaded. 

\---

Fiona was making breakfast and poured Ian a bowl of cereal when he stumbled sleepily into the kitchen in the morning.

“Why so glum, chum? Isn’t your One the greatest? Don’t you feel like a warm glass of milk, safe and secure now?”

“Uh, not exactly.”

She sat down across from him at the table.

“Ok, spill. What’s so wrong with Caleb?”

So Ian told her. About the sexual incompatibility. Not in excruciating detail, because fuck, she was still his sister. But enough for her to understand the magnitude of the issue.

She drew her brows down, perplexed. “Ian, sex with your One is supposed to be the most beautiful, most fulfilling experience, but that doesn’t mean it always starts out that way. Sometimes, that relationship develops over time.”

“Is that how it happened with you and Jimmy?”

“Well,” she looked away, “no. We were pretty hot and heavy from the very beginning, like our bodies were made for each other. He’s got this thing he does, with his tongue-”

Ian cut her off. “-Ok, yup, gross, I get enough hetero sex from the movies Caleb has on all the fucking time. It’s like he has stock in the Hallmark channel.”

“Are you maybe trying to recreate with him what you had with someone else, expecting Caleb to be the same?”

_Well, yeah._

He _was_ expecting Caleb to be as good, or better than the best sex he’d ever had. Fiona had made a fair point, so he nodded.

Fiona returned the nod. “Heard this thing a while back, and it might help you out. Said comparison is the thief of joy. If you’re spending all your time expecting Caleb to be like M- someone else,” she caught herself before she said Mickey’s name, as if the very name would summon him, “then you aren’t spending your time appreciating what makes Caleb so great. So great that he was literally made for you.”

Ian gave her a weak smile. “I’ll try, I can promise that much.”

She covered his hand with her own. “That’s all I’m askin.”

\---

He tried. 

Ian really, _really_ tried. 

He took Caleb on dates, sent him flowers, sat on a blanket and counted stars, all the silly stuff he’d always dreamed of doing with his One. But instead of feeling closer to Caleb, every day he felt like they were further apart, mentally, physically, and emotionally. 

Caleb thought taking medication was for people who couldn’t ‘tough it out.’

Caleb wanted him to go back to a buzzcut, instead of the shaggy near curls Ian was rocking. 

Caleb told him that his father was an evangelical pastor and virulent homophobe, so Ian shouldn’t expect to meet Caleb’s family, _ever_. 

And finally, the one that really took the cake, Caleb shared that he wanted to top Ian, not just once, or once in a while, but regularly. 

Ian stormed out of the apartment, ashamed that it looked like he was freaking out over the prospect of bottoming when really it was the accumulation of things. He paced around the parking lot for an hour, smoking furiously (Caleb didn’t let anyone smoke in his apartment).

_What the fuck_ , he thought, _you can’t take a dick but I’m supposed to?_

_Never meet your family?_

_Stop my meds?!_

Ian’s pacing was in a loop, and after a few angry circuits, his eye caught on his TiMER. Caleb was his One, it was right there in black and white and grey. If Caleb wanted to fuck him, wasn’t Ian like, morally obliged to at least try it?

He went back upstairs, and apologized, and led Caleb into the bedroom, kissing him with as much passion as he could muster.

Ian tried, he really tried, to give away his gold-star and everything, but it just felt _wrong_. All his instincts to thrust were at odds with the bodily sensations of fingers in his ass. One was fine, even good, maybe two, but Caleb couldn’t or didn’t make any effort to find his p-spot. And the cleanup, before and after? No thanks. He’d go back to blowing Caleb every night if that’s what it took. 

_Relationships take compromise_ , he told himself.

\---

Ian and Lip were sitting in the old van in the Gallagher yard, smoking up. Tammi didn’t want Lip to smoke pot around Freddie, and Caleb didn’t want Ian to smoke at all, so this was what their lives had come to, two adults hiding their joints like kids.

“My study’s goin' really well. Might get another grant, or even a book deal.”

“No shit? What’s the book gonna be about?”

“What would it take to leave your One behind?” Lip asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Uh, I wouldn’t.” Ian was confused. 

“No, man, that’s the topic. Or the title. Not sure yet. I’ve been documenting all the TiMER oddities out there, and tracking down people who bailed on their Ones.”

“That’s a thing?”

“It is indeed. A very sad thing, usually. Usually it’s a phobia or a fetish.”

“A fetish for leaving their One?”

Lip rolled his eyes, passing Ian the joint. “Nah. Like their One has an incompatible fetish. Fuckin’ pedophiles, and shit.”

“Pedophiles have soulmates?”

“The universe is strange and cruel.”

“No fuckin’ kidding man.” The words were out before Ian could stop them.

Lip turned and faced him with a serious expression. “Ian, what’s up with Connor? It’s been weeks now and you’re still moping around here. When I met Tammi, we were practically joined at the- well, at the everything for at least half a year.”

“ _Caleb_ is- he’s great. He’s really strong, and serious, and smart.”

“Uh-huh. Sounds like damning with faint praise. What, he doesn’t compare to Mickey in bed?”

“Ugh.” Ian groaned. “That’s exactly it. I mean, it’s more than just that but there’s no chemistry, no fire. What the hell? Where am I supposed to stick my dick if not in his shallow ass? The guy doesn't even suck dick and he’s my soulmate, and he wants me to take it on the reg. The universe is just mean!”

“Any other complaints?”

Ian caught himself before he said anything about Caleb’s continued pushing for him to stop his meds. Lip would lose his shit if he heard that.

“Yeah, he- his family isn’t very accepting and he doesn’t seem to care. There’s some other shit too.”

“Look, sex isn’t everything in a relationship, but it sounds like you need to communicate your needs. You gotta get something out of it, even if it means he gets a little mad in the short term. You two are soulmates, he’ll come around.”

Ian wasn’t so sure. 

They’d smoked themselves out, and by mutual agreement headed inside. On the bed in his childhood room, Ian was drawn into his memories. He was half hard already, from the pot, and being here again reminded him of fucking Mickey in this bed, both of them giggling and contorting themselves so they wouldn’t fall off the edge. That brought back another dim memory, and Ian leaned over, fishing his hand into the tight space between the bed and the wall.

_Ah, there it was._

He pulled out a lost shirt of Mickey’s, one of the many the man liked to wear. Ian had never seen any person wear so many layers of clothing: undershirt, henley, tee shirt, vest, and a coat on top. It was absurd, but Ian was grateful for it now, because the shirt he’d found still smelled like Mickey.

Mickey, who had taught Ian what sex could be, and now he wished he’d never learned, didn’t spend every night wishing to be in bed with someone other than his soulmate.

If Ian had another sad masturbation session with Mickey’s abandoned shirt tucked around his neck so he could sniff it, then at least no one knew that he cried himself to sleep afterwards.


	28. Never trust a guy who runs towards fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Caleb, and how it ends. Plus Carl gets some good shit, for once.

Ian kept compromising. It felt like every conversation resulted in his adjusting his expectations, giving in to whatever Caleb wanted. From little things-

_ Pepperoni pizza? Too many nitrates, Ian. Have you thought about going vegetarian? _

-to the ongoing push for Ian to move in. He’d capitulated as far as accepting a spare key, bringing over a toothbrush and some spare clothing, and spending the majority of his nights off dozing with Caleb on the immaculate couch, as his One obsessively watched yet another boring hetero romance reality TV show. 

He kept expecting their relationship and time spent together to become more routine, to feel more natural, but as the weeks and then months passed, he was still unhappily seeking the easy comfort as he’d once known in  _ someone else _ ’s messy, crowded apartment. The Gallagher house had been home once, but less and less so as his siblings grew up and found their way. Caleb wanted Ian to call this apartment home, but could he, really?

The pushing and complaints about stopping his meds never ended, the unwillingness to spend time with the Gallagher’s or bring Ian around Caleb’s family, and the low-effort sex, plus new expectations, like Caleb not wanting to use condoms on the rare occasions that they did engage in sexual activity. 

Three months into their relationship, Ian was in the kitchen of Caleb’s apartment.

“What are we doing for dinner?” Caleb had asked, always acting like it was Ian’s job to decide on dinner, like he’d been cast in the stereotypical female role, and he tried not to think of how much it rankled him.

“Whatever you want, I guess.” Whatever  _ Caleb  _ wanted, as usual. 

“I want Vietnamese, from that place Carpenter Street.” Ian had nodded his acquiescence and gone into the kitchen to find the menu. As he rifled through the junk drawer where Caleb kept the takeout menus ( _ Not the fridge, Ian, they make the whole place look messy _ ), a lilac envelope slid into view. Curious, he opened it. 

It was a wedding invitation. 

_ Please join us as we celebrate the union of Bryce Alexander Stevens III and Rachel Faith Jones under the watchful eyes of the Holy Father on... _

“Hey, Caleb, what’s this?” Ian held up the creamy invite for him to see.

“My sister’s getting married.”

“Yeah, I can see that. It’s in like a week.”

“Uh huh.”

“You want me to take off? It’s a little short notice, but I can probably swing it.”

“Ian.” Caleb’s voice was firm. “You know you can’t be around my family. And certainly not in my father’s church. I’ll just bring an old friend from high school, we do this kind of thing for each other.”

“An old friend?” Caleb had never mentioned anyone, or said anything about his youth, not really.

“Denise. Denise, not Dennis. She’s married with kids.”

Ian gave a wan smile, feeling somewhat reassured, but still left out, left behind, out of sync with his One.

“You ordering, or what? I’m starving!”

Ian pulled out his cell phone to call the restaurant.

\---

The day of the wedding, Ian had been scheduled to work for 24 hours straight, starting at 6am so when he pecked Caleb’s cheek goodbye in the wee hours, neither of them expected to see the other again for a day or so.

But then Ian’s ambulance had broken down, Sue had gotten stomach poisoning around lunch time, and Ian had puked too. He didn’t have whatever Sue had: they never shared any meals, but out of an abundance of precaution, he got sent home at 4pm.

He figured he’d head to Caleb’s, surprise him when he got home, play the good boyfriend role he wished felt more natural.

The first thing he noticed was Caleb’s suit coat hanging on a hook in the hallway. 

_ Had he really forgotten it? He’d kept mentioning how the coat completed the whole suit’s look. _

There were noises coming from the bedroom; Caleb had probably left the TV on in there, on the fucking Hallmark channel, if Ian had to guess by the sloppy smooching sounds he could make out.

He walked down the hall, his only intention to turn the TV off and take a nap, but his movement was arrested when he saw a pair of long, smooth legs spread out on the bed, the back of Caleb’s head buried between them. 

Caleb was eating out a chick. He was eating pussy. And not passively or grudgingly, the way he treated Ian’s dick. He was burying his face in there, making tiny happy noises, as the woman above him let out a throaty moan.

Ian backed up hurriedly, taking care not to make any noise. He let himself out of the apartment, and left in a daze that soon morphed into righteous anger and indignation.

\---

After a day of the silent treatment, Caleb caught up with Ian at his work, where he stood in front of his locker, changing into his EMT uniform. He ignored Caleb as he approached, refusing to acknowledge him. 

“Yo, how come you didn’t come home last night?”

“Home?” The acid in Ian’s voice should have been a warning to Caleb. 

“Ok, how come you didn’t come over last night? Or answer my texts?”

“Busy,” Ian bit out tersely.

“Care to elaborate?” Caleb leaned on the locker beside Ian’s, a look of genuine concern on his face. Or Ian would have thought it was genuine concern, if he didn’t know better.

“I dunno, ask Denice.”

“Is that what this is about? My oldest friend who I took to my sister’s wedding so you wouldn’t get your ass handed to you by my father’s ushers?”

Ian was done pussy-footing around the issue, and laid his accusation out. “Your oldest friend, who you fuck, you mean.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’re you talking about?”

“I saw you with her- I stopped by, saw you buried face-first in her pussy.”

“You were spying on me?” He wasn’t even denying it, just acting like Ian had been in the wrong to come over with the key Caleb had given him. 

“No, I was trying to do the right thing, spend time with my One. But it turns out, he doesn’t even like dick!”

“I like dick plenty!”

“Oh, just not  _ my  _ dick then?”

“It’s not like I fucking cheated on you, Ian. Cheating would be if I sucked some other guy off, fucked some other dude.” 

He noticed Caleb hadn’t said anything about liking Ian’s dick. Of course not. 

_ How could he, how could anyone? _

“I’m confused,” he told Caleb. 

“How do you think I feel? My One, calling me a cheater?”

Once again, it was all about Caleb. Caleb was the victim here. Ian saw the pattern clearly, mad that he’d fallen for this type of manipulation. But the answer to manipulation was direct questioning, refusal to be distracted. “Did you, or did you not, fuck Denice?”

Caleb threw up his hands with a huge sigh. “What’s the big deal?”

Ian laughed. “What’s - what’s the big deal? The big deal is you put no effort into our sex life, or getting me off, but as soon as my back is turned, you’re going down on a  _ woman,  _ fucking her.”

“We’ve been sleeping together since we were kids,” Caleb protested, as if that made it better. “Don’t make this into somethin’ more than it is. I’m with you, Ian. That should be enough.”

“ ‘That should be enough?’ Hey, Caleb, fuck you.” Ian gave him the finger on both hands for emphasis.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you, cause I didn’t want you freaking out the way you are right now, going crazy.”

Ian saw red then. “I’m not  _ crazy  _ to be pissed about this! Your being with me isn’t a fucking walk in the park, Caleb. I have to work hard, every day, to think of ways to make you happy. And now I find out that what makes you happiest is pussy? Well, I’m not into that, I don’t have one, I don’t like them, and I don’t want my One to be into them either!”

“Ian, Ian, calm down. Your coworkers are gonna hear,” Caleb tried to hush him, but Ian was having none of it.

“FUCK my coworkers! That’s what you like anyway, isn’t it? Any warm mouth? Maybe I should try it too, whadya think?”

“You’re so fucking immature, Ian. When did you become such a baby? You can’t just accept your One’s normal, sexually fluid experiences?”

“No, I can’t. I accepted all your crap, ate all the bullshit you fed me, but this is it. I’m out.” Ian felt a wave of release flood him, as he made the declaration, but behind it came other, darker feelings: anxiety, fear, loneliness.

“You can’t just break up with your soulmate!”

“Look, someone up there, or the universe, or whatever, clearly made a fucking mistake.”

Caleb leaned back calmly, and laughed. Instead of getting more heated, or participating in the argument, he was pulling away, disengaging.

“You’re right, you know. I fuckin’ hate sucking your cock. And the universe didn’t make a mistake, I did.”

Ian goggled at him in shock.

Caleb let out a  [ little giggle ](http://fandomania.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/03/fangirls-guide-to-the-good-place-3.gif) that Ian had never heard him make before. “The whole idea is to find someone hot who’s zeroing out in a crowded area, and you idiots always come to a crowded area, and then set off this.” He made a quick movement, hitting something on his TiMER.

**_Deedle Le Dee! Deedle Le Dee! Deedle Le Dee!_ **

_ What the fuck? It sounded like Caleb was zeroing out again, but how?  _

Ian was the only one in the room with him.

Seeing Ian’s confusion, Caleb condescendingly explained, “It’s a toy I picked up a while back. I can get it to ‘zero out’ anytime I want.”

Ian’s righteous anger went straight to blinding rage, and he swung on Caleb, catching him by surprise. 

The punch was a good one, solid, and Caleb fell to the floor, clutching his jaw in surprise and pain. 

“Another fucking fake TiMER? What the fuck is my life? You’re such an evil piece of shit- I can’t even believe I thought you could ever be my One. The universe wouldn’t play me that way.”

He aimed a kick at Caleb, but this time the firefighter blocked it. Ian rocked back, pulling phlegm into his throat and spat down on Caleb, before turning away, muttering. 

“Shoulda never trusted a guy who runs  _ towards  _ fire.”

\---

Around the same time that Ian was spitting in Caleb’s face, Carl was sitting at work, feet kicked up his desk as per usual. It was a slow day, but every day at the retirement home was a slow day. 

Soft hands suddenly covered his eyes, and he startled in his seat, bringing his feet down flat on the floor. 

“If you’re over 60, I ain’t playin this game again.”

The hands withdrew, and Carl spun around to see Steph grinning at him.

“Hey, Steph, hi!”

“Carl, how’s work?”

“Great, just a laugh a minute here. Wild and crazy stuff. Here to see your grandfather again?”

Or was she here for another reason? His awkward flirting at the bar had amused her, but they hadn’t actually done anything besides talk that night. They’d been texting, on and off, sometimes at all hours of the day and night for weeks since, but neither had made a move to meet up again. 

“Him, sure, and maybe you, too.”

Carl held up his bare, healing wrist. “Got my TiMER removed.”

Her eyes were wide, and he had a sudden fear that he’d fucked up, that by removing what she had lost, he was somehow diminishing the impact of her loss. “I mean- I just, it was-”

“No, I see, I get it.” Her face was serious as she stared at him, like she was trying to figure something out. Or like he had shit on his face. 

Carl rubbed at his cheek and looked at his hand, seeing nothing. Steph was laughing at him quietly, and he felt like he needed to explain himself to her.

“Just didn’t feel like waiting another 20-something years for something good when-” His voice trailed away.

“When what, Carl?”

Carl looked up into her eyes, trying to gauge her reaction as he spoke, “When something great might be right in front of me.”

When Doctor Depaul walked through a few minutes later, he paused, hands on hips in disapproval. Carl and Steph were kissing, she sitting across his lap, while one of the dementia patients looked on in avid fascination. Totally unprofessional. 


	29. A Year is a Long Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian tries to forget the debacle with Caleb, and sees something that rocks his world.

He’d lost his only chance at finding his One; Caleb had stolen his future from him with the nasty trick with the fake TiMER. Ian couldn’t bring himself to think too much about the loss of his future happiness, instead wanting to drown his sorrows and pass out, preferably for the next week or so. 

His mind hadn’t gotten the memo though, and kept throwing up comparisons between Caleb’s scam and Mickey’s. Mickey had never made Ian think they were more than- than what? Friends? Lovers? Caleb had prevented Ian from connecting with his Soulmate, Mickey had made him think they couldn’t be more than casual, until the end.

_ I don’t need a fucking DEVICE to know you’re it for me- I just know. Why don’t you? _

Was that it? Would he go crawling back to Mickey now, willing to accept whatever crumbs of affection he could get, since being with his One was now an impossibility? Was he ready to admit what he’d felt about Mickey was more than just casual? Or had he already ruined the one good thing he’d ever found, hurt Mickey too badly to repair?

As the questions swirled urgently in his head, Ian didn’t know where else to go, so he ended up at Debbie’s bar, wanting to get as drunk as possible, as fast as possible, knowing his sister would over-serve him if he demanded. And he did, rapidly getting wasted on anything Debbie put in front of him.

He slammed down another shot, and waved the glass at Debbie, indicating he wanted more. 

There was music, and a band, but Ian refused to look, just in case. The last person he needed to see or hear tonight was Mickey, Mickey who would probably rub his face in what had happened, losing his One, in falling for yet another fake TiMER scam. 

He took another shot, wincing at the burn, and slammed the shot glass down. 

Debbie eyed him warily, but he just gestured for her to pour again.

A guitar began to strum on stage, with a quick little riff he thought he recognized. He could imagine tattooed fingers on guitar strings in a messy room, showing him how to play that tune, a voice beside his ear, humming a melody.

Then the voice started. 

[ _ Hold on my love,  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ just don't give up, Darling.  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ I don't know what's on your mind. _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

Ian knew that voice, could hear it in his head, roughened and broken in passion, cursing him out, making stupid jokes just to see him smile. 

_ Fuck _ . 

But he still refused to look up at the stage. Even if he was there, he probably hadn’t seen Ian. It didn’t  _ mean  _ anything.

[ _ Take a breath and just calm your head,  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ You know I'm not afraid of what's on your mind.  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ Cause I won't let you go. _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

The drums rolled in then, bringing a new richness and pressing beat to the music. The rhythm felt familiar too, like somehow his body recognized it.

[ _ Tell me babe are you losing faith,  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ can't you see that I'm not leaving now.  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ So tell me,  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ you think we're nothing  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ and you keep running,  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ but can't you see that I don't know how.  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

Ian’s eyes were drawn, utterly against his will, to the small stage. The spotlight shone on Mickey, dark hair pushed back and gleaming, seated on a stool, head bent and neck curled forward as he played the guitar, singing into the mike. Iggy had taken over on drums, and the other Milkmen were singing backup.

[ _ Cause I won't let you go _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ No I won't let go _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ No I won't let go _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

Ian noticed something then, something that took his breath away, even through the haze of the alcohol. Mickey’s right wrist had a TiMER on it. That wasn’t what caught Ian’s eye. It was the red ring on his skin, the characteristic inflamed flesh of a new TiMER implant. Mickey had a TiMER. A  _ real  _ one, this time. 

[ _ Oh you might not know _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ But I won't let go _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ Come on babe it's true _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ I will wait for you. _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

[ _ Cause I won’t let go. _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv6764iOW9w)

He knew the song- knew when Mickey had written it. Mickey had a TiMER now, and it was all just  _ wrong _ . Was he singing to Ian, had he written this song for him? Or was it all just another meaningless coincidence in an unkind universe?

The song ended, and the band took a break, leaving the stage dark and barren. Ian refused to go find Mickey, too drunk and too proud to have that conversation tonight. 

But when had Mickey ever done what Ian expected?

Just when Ian thought he was in the clear, had successfully evaded those crystalline blue eyes, Mickey leaned on the bar beside him. 

He didn’t say anything, just watched carefully as Ian pounded back another shot. 

Finally, Ian gave in. His insides had turned to pleasant fire, and the edges of the world were blurring together, and talking to Mickey didn’t seem too terrible of an idea anymore. “Hey Mick, how’s it going?”

Mickey frowned, the skin between his brows wrinkling. “How’s it going, asshole? That’s all you have to say to me?”

Ian sighed, resting his head on the bartop. It was so  _ heavy _ . “What do you want me to say? That I miss you?”

Mickey kept watching him. “That’d be a start, yeah.”

“Ok. I miss you, every fucking day.” Ian admitted. “I lost my One, or he wasn’t my One, and I lost him too, and it’s all cause the whole time I was thinkin’ of you, wantin’ to be with you.” He turned his face, so one cheek rested on the sticky bar, and he could watch Mickey’s face. 

_ God, he’d missed that face. _

“Sure, firecrotch, ok, lots to unpack there, but for how long do you wanna be with me?  A year from now, are we together? Or am I just a- just a stop on the road, and then you’re still lookin’ for the One that got away?” 

There was a light glimmering and playing in Mickey’s eyes, one that looked like hope. Or maybe that was just the alcohol messing with Ian’s perceptions.

“A year is a long ass time, Mickey. How the fuck do I know what’ll happen by then? Who I’ll be in a year?”

Mickey crossed his arms across his chest. “See, for me, the answer's yes. Of course,  without a doubt, we are together. An’ my  answer isn't because of any TiMER.”

“I know that,” Ian whispered, shutting his eyes.

There was a pause, and Ian could hear Debbie working at the other end of the bar, he could hear Colin asking for a beer. He could hear the a/c unit for the building kicking on, trying to lower the room’s temperature and humidity. He waited for Mickey to speak. 

Finally, he did. “It's  cause you're not in love with me. That's why you don't know.”

Ian opened his eyes and sat up, listing heavily to one side. Mickey reached out a hand to steady him, holding onto his shoulder lightly, almost against his will. 

“I was in love with you, Mickey. I  think I was.”

Mickey pulled his hand back, finally sliding onto the bar stool beside Ian.

_ I think I still am. _

Ian continued, bravery fueled by the shots he’d consumed, reckless with his words. “But I  think I  ruined it. Didn't I?”

“Eh, maybe.” Mickey was looking straight ahead, at the rows and rows of liquor bottles on the wall, at the mirror where their forms were reflected. 

Ian waited until he couldn’t bear it anymore. “You're being awfully stoic.”

Mickey spun on his stool, finally looking right at Ian, meeting his gaze levely, eyes suddenly gleaming and full of unshed tears. “Okay, I don't know what that word means, but you broke my fucking heart and I'm really trying not to be a pussy about it, okay? So cut me some fucking slack here!”

Ian reached out and pinched him, hard. 

“Ow, fuck!” He gave a watery grin, and slapped Ian’s hand away, but not too hard. Not cruelly. 

_ At least he wasn’t on the edge of tears anymore. _

Debbie slid over and dropped off more shots, pushing a few in front of Mickey with a silent nod. That was as much of an apology as Mickey could ever expect from Debs, Ian knew.

“Everything was so much easier when you had a fake TiMER,” Ian admitted. “You, me, a built-in deadline.” He wished he could go back to those few happy months, maybe the only time in his life he’d felt happy. And he hadn’t even realized it at the time, too caught up in everything else.

“I know, right?” Mickey smoothly downed his first shot, grimacing. 

“After all that,” Ian gestured at them, “almost had this piece of shit removed.” He shook his wrist with his zeroed out TiMER in frustration. 

Mickey frowned again. “Seriously? But you’re so into that bullshit.”

“Yeah I was. Then, what you said- I dunno. I was there in the chair, fuckin- fuckin’ seconds away from having it removed, then it went off. I was ready to find you, but then…”

He gestured sadly and his voice broke. 

“Then it went off. And then Caleb happened, with his fake TiMER. Why do I keep falling for that? Don’t even know who my real One is, Mick. Missed him that day, maybe lost him that day. Forever.”

Mickey was looking shifty, not looking at Ian, eyes fixed on the remaining full shot glass in front of him. He spoke quietly, “Fake TiMER?”

Ian gave a bitter laugh that turned into a hiccup. “Yeah, fancier than your piece of crap. Faked the zeroing out noise, the whole deal. Pretty fucking convincing.”

They sat in silence as Mickey processed.

“So you don’t know who your One is?” His tone was serious and respectful. Very un-Mickey-like, and Ian peered at him fuzzily.

“Nope. Don’t think I ever will.” There were three Milkovich’s now, where there had only been one.  _ That was weird. _

“Huh, ok,” Mickey mused. One of the Mickey’s beside him whispered in Ian’s Mickey’s ear, and he nodded.

“I just- there’s no one better than you, even when you’re mean or fucked up. No One out there better for me, cause the universe  _ hates  _ me, and I can’t have nice things-”

“-Ian, maybe don’t do this right here, right now?” Iggy had stepped in, blocking Ian’s view of Mickey. He craned his neck, but Mickey had turned away as another of his brothers began to usher him away. Iggy continued, “Just chill. You’re really fuckin’ wasted, save all that for later, if that’s how you really feel.”

Mickey pulled away, suddenly, just enough to turn and face Ian. “Gotta go, Gallagher. I’ll, uh, catch you around, I guess.”

Ian gave a little wave as the Milkovich’s departed, his upper lip trembling and eyes full of tears. 

Debbie appeared again, and studied him. “I don’t think I can serve you anymore.”

“I’m not that drunk, Debbbbs,” Ian heard himself slur.

“No, but you’re drunk enough to waggle your fingers at Mickey and his brothers.”

“It’s fine, I just fucked everything up, like I always do.” He tried to count on his fingers as he spoke, “Mickey, Caleb, Mickey again,” but he lost track of his fingers after that. 

“Bro, I don’t know how you feel right now, but tomorrow you’re going to feel worse, I promise you.”

\---

She was right, of course. In the morning, Ian felt like he couldn’t get up, couldn’t  open his eyes, because if he did, there would be a flash of lightning, and his head would at once be blown to pieces. A heavy bell was booming in that head, brown spots rimmed with fiery green floated between his eyeballs and his closed eyelids, and to crown it all he was nauseous, nausea that seemed to pulse in time with a terrible song playing in his bedroom.

It was his text message notification.

After a half hour of quiet contemplation, Ian made it to the bathroom in time to empty the contents of his stomach (all liquid and foul smelling) into the toilet. When he finally returned to bed, he was able to open his eyes enough to read the text.

**Mickey** **(9:02 AM)** **Meet me at the diner at 10?**

Ian scrunched up his eyes, trying to see the current time. 9:40 am.

**Ian** **(9:41 AM)** **ofc**

Now he just had to turn into a presentable human being and walk 4 blocks in twenty minutes. 

_ Piece of cake. _

The thought of cake had his stomach turning again, and he didn’t make it to the bathroom in time.


	30. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many revelations, and banana pancakes.

[ 'Baby it’s You' London Grammar ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BlK9a-ccrLY)

Ian looked like shit and he knew it. Bags under his eyes, unshaven, clothes from the day before, hat hiding wild hair. But he didn’t want to waste time, if Mickey wanted to see him at 10, then that was all that mattered.

He made it there nearly on time, and of course Mickey was already inside, seating a booth and looking at a menu. As if he didn’t order the same thing every time they had breakfast out. Banana pancakes and bacon, coffee all day. And he looked like he’d had a full night’s comfortable sleep, the fucker.

Ian slid carefully into the booth and pulled off his beanie, aware that his slightly-too-long, greasy hair was probably standing on end. He barely had a moment to exchange the beginnings of a smile with Mickey when Fiona arrived to take their order. 

She gave them a hard stare before she pulled out her order pad. “Ok, guys. What can I get ya?”

Abashed, Ian asked for black coffee, which got him a narrow look from both Mickey and Fiona. He amended his order, adding dry toast, which didn’t alleviate either of his watchers’ concerns. Mickey ordered his usual, and Fiona departed. Ian knew he’d be on the receiving end of another lecture when he got home.

They waited in silence, no menus to distract them, before Mickey caved first. He was playing with the paper wrapper from a plastic straw, folding and twisting it in his clever, tattooed fingers. “Ok, spill it, Gallagher. You wouldn’t shut up last night, this is your chance to let it all out.”

_ He could do this.  _

Ian took a deep breath, and released it, trying to center himself. “I give up. I give up on TiMERs and true love and all the bullshit.”

“And? This concerns me how?”

He’d thought Mickey would immediately understand what that meant, but he was willing to spell it out plainly. “You and me. I want that.”

“I’m your backup plan. Awesome. Very flattering.” Mickey flicked his eyes at Ian, too quickly for him to get a read on his emotions. 

This wasn’t going the way he’d imagined, so Ian tried to backtrack, explain. “No! Well, I mean I guess? But not, like, in a  _ bad  _ way?”

Mickey heaved a sigh of his own, finally done shredding the paper wrapper. “I gotta tell you something, an’ you’re gonna fucking regret saying this shit to me.”

Fiona returned with their plates, the scent of Mickey’s meal wafting in Ian’s brain, making his mouth water. As Mickey reached to accept his plate from her, Ian could see the TiMER on his wrist. Mickey’s  _ real  _ TiMER. 

Zeroed out. 

Mickey had met his One already.

_ Fuck.  _

He already regretted what he’d said, and now to find Mickey happily partnered up? 

**_Fuck_ ** .

Ian took a sip of his coffee, scalding his mouth with the hot, bitter liquid, but at least it distracted him from the broken shards of his heart that seemed determined to shred him from the inside. 

Mickey didn’t seem aware of the bombshell that had just landed in Ian’s lap, and after taking a syrup-laden bite of pancakes, continued the conversation. “So what happened to your One, anyway? Not hot enough for ya?”

“Caleb? No, he was plenty hot. Just an awful person.”

That got a grin out of Mickey, finally.

“Yeah? What was so awful ‘bout him?”

“First of all,” Ian began to count on his fingers. “The sex was bad. Like not even ok, actually outright bad.”

Mickey nodded, encouraging him to continue. 

“That was the worst part, maybe, cause you showed me candyland and then took away the key.” 

“The key is my ass, in this twisted metaphor?”

It was Ian’s turn to nod. 

“So you want me back because I took your dick better than anyone else,” Mickey asked flatly. 

“Well- sort of?” Ian was forced to admit that Mickey had a point: it was kind of dehumanizing to want Mickey back just for the sex, but he needed Mickey to understand how different it was with them. “It’s like your ass was made for my dick, and if that’s not fate, I don’t know what is.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, “Stop with the flattery already.”

Ian pressed on, trying to explain that he wanted Mickey for lots of reasons. “Second, it was also his family shit.”

Mickey cast him a sharp-eyed glance. “Look, my family ain’t a walk in the park neither.”

“Yeah, but at least they know I exist and don’t wanna murder me,” Ian tried to joke.

“Eh, ten years ago it woulda been a different story.”

“He wasn’t funny, or interesting, or comfortable!”

“Sounds like a sitcom you wanna date, not a person.”

Ian looked around, trying to confirm that Fiona wasn’t close enough to overhear. “He also kept pushing me to stop taking my meds.” 

This detail seemed to penetrate Mickey’s facade of indifference, and he put down his fork. “Wait, really? Gimme his address, I gotta go run a quick errand.”

“Don’t have to do that, Mick. I didn’t - I would never. Stop them. I know better, ya know?”

“Yeah, even if your One told you to? Cause I know you, Red.” Mickey had picked up his fork again and had it pointed at Ian’s face. “You do dumb shit cause you want people to love you. It’s- what’s the word? Pathological.”

Ian was taken aback. Mickey was right, he  _ did  _ do stupid shit to get people to love him, whether it was going overboard with presents for his siblings, pulling too much overtime at work, or pushing his romantic partners too fast.

Mickey was still muttering around a mouthful of bacon. “Can’t believe that fucker- would he tell a diabetic to stop takin’ insulin? A cancer patient to skip chemo? Ya know what? I bet he  _ would _ , he’d tell ‘em to eat right and meditate like that would cure shit.”

Ian swallowed a mouthful of dry toast, and eyed a last lonely piece of bacon on Mickey’s plate. Mickey caught him looking and grabbed it with his bare fingers, stuffing it into his mouth. “Order your own pork, Gallagher. How’d he fake it, anyway?”

Confused at first, Ian realized they were still discussing Caleb. 

“Same as you, basically. Fake TiMER, he could make it go off with a button. So he’d go to crowded places and look for- look for suckers like me, I guess. People alone, who had ‘the look’. Then he’d wait, and set his TiMER off as soon as their- as soon as mine went off. He’d walk over, all cool and calm, and say shit like ‘I guess I’m your One.’”

“Yeah, I was wondering what he was sayin’ to you.”

“Wait, what?” 

Mickey was staring at his empty plate as if willing new food to appear. Nothing happened, then he whispered, “I was there, too. Saw you.” He finally looked at Ian, met his eyes, and Ian saw hope there. 

_ Hope for what? _

Mickey could see he didn’t get it, whatever  _ it  _ was, and his eyebrows drew down in a way that made Ian suddenly mad with frustration. 

“Oh, so you watched me miss meeting my One, my soulmate? What, were you there to gloat?” He slammed a fist on the tabletop, making the silverware rattle and Fiona glance over from across the diner. He gave her a quick nod that everything was fine. 

It was. 

It was all fine.

_ Fucking **fine**. _

Mickey reached out, and put his hand over Ian’s. “Man, you know that’s not why I was there.” His mouth was twitching a little, at the corners, like he was holding back a laugh.

He did know Mickey was petty as shit, but not like this, not about something so important to Ian.

“It’s just so fuckin unfair, Mick! My countdown finally started and Caleb stole my future from me.” He continued to ramble, pouring out his resentments and disappointments, when he realized Mickey wasn’t actually listening. The twitching at the corners of his mouth had graduated to a full fledged wry smile.

“Jesus, how are you ever find your One if you never fucking shut up?”

_ What the fuck? _

“Huh? But I lost him, Mick! Forever, probably!”

Mickey huffed out a laugh. “I’m right the fuck here, Gallagher.”

“ _ Him _ , Mickey, not you.” 

_ Had Mickey gotten confused, lost the plot? _

“I am right. Fucking. Here. You. Moron!” Mickey’s eyes were scrunched up, and his smile had widened, when it hit Ian.

_ Oh.  _

_ Oh, shit. _

“You’ve been my One, this whole time,” he said dazedly, already knowing the answer. Maybe he’d always known?

“Why you always askin’ stupid questions?” Mickey kicked Ian’s ankle, under the table, but not hard, still smiling. Ian just stared at Mickey’s tattooed fingers where they covered his own on the slightly sticky tabletop. 

Inside, it felt like a wave, a huge wave that had been coming towards the shore for days, maybe years, was finally breaking against the rocks. Ian burst into tears like an over-tired, over-wrought child, right there in the middle of the diner, laying his head down on the table. 

Mickey patted his head, then ran his fingers tentatively through the short red curls, just waiting while Ian cried himself out.

When Ian lifted his tear-stained face, Mickey shoved a wad of napkins at him wordlessly. The tears had stopped, and there was a light in Ian’s eyes, a new heat between the two men. Mickey gave him that cocky grin, and Ian returned it as best he could with snot still congesting his throat, his eyes still red and swollen. 

“C’mon firecrotch, let’s go home so you can get on me.”

“Home?” Ian echoed.

Mickey nodded.

_ Home, yeah.  _

That was it. 

The thing Fiona and Lip had been trying to explain. 

The feeling Ian had been searching for since forever.

_ Mickey was home. _

Ian left his side of the table, and slid onto the bench next to Mickey, who eyed him a bit warily. He reached up, cupping Mickey’s cheek, sidling closer, so their thighs were squashed together. Waiting for Mickey, this ridiculously perfect man, his soulmate for fuck’s sake, as he stared deeply into the ocean blue of his eyes. Mickey’s eyes weren’t looking into his anymore, they were watching Ian’s mouth, Mickey biting his lip as if he wasn’t aware he was doing it. Ian swooped in, pressing their lips together at last, swiping out with his tongue, tasting the syrup as Mickey opened for him-

“Uh, guys? You need the check?” Fiona’s voice was an unwelcome intrusion. 

Ian didn’t look at her, just felt a flush rise up his neck. “More bacon, please?”

Mickey poked him in the stomach, and Ian grunted, grinning. 

Ian could hear Fiona’s disgusted cough as she walked away, but he was too engrossed in Mickey’s mouth, in licking into him and hearing the tiny sounds of pleasure that Mickey only made for him, to care about his sister, the other patrons, or literally anything else on earth. He’d found his One, after he spent a lifetime searching, denied, and hopeless. 

  
He gripped Mickey’s vest in his fists, pulling the other man’s upper body impossibly closer, pressing their foreheads together. Their eyes met, as Ian laid a last, light, promising kiss on the full lips he dreamt about. Mickey threaded his arms through Ian’s, reaching around to hold him in an odd embrace. Ian buried his face in Mickey’s neck, inhaling deeply. He smelled like  _ home.  _


	31. This Coulda Been Really Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected guest, 3300 words of smut, and more feelings.

By mutual agreement, Ian and Mickey had left the diner ( _ tipping Fiona nearly 40%, but she’d deserved it _ ) and headed back to the place Mickey shared with his brothers.

As they walked, Ian hesitantly reached out, brushing Mickey’s fingers with his own. It was a casual touch, it could have been accidental, but Mickey read it for what it was. He huffed out a sigh and threaded their fingers together. They walked that way for a few blocks before Ian got up the guts to ask what was on his mind.

“Why- why didn’t you say anything? That day?”

Mickey’s fingers froze in his for a moment, then dropped Ian’s fingers, leaving his palm cold and empty. 

“I saw what happened. Saw that guy, saw his timer go off too. Thought maybe someone else would come up to me, but then you two left and no one did. I was alone.”

Ian glanced over, to see how Mickey’s expression. It was far away, tight, and sad.

“Felt really fuckin alone that day, Gallagher.”

And Ian hadn’t even  _ noticed  _ him that day. He felt like such a jerk, couldn’t understand how he could have missed Mickey, his One, right in front of him for so long. 

Longing to ease the tension in the air, he tried a joke. “Did you go home and cry?”

Mickey peered at him critically, nostrils flaring. “Jesus, Gallagher, shut the fuck up. Yes, I cried, I thought my One had taken one look at me and left, before I even had a chance. I was wrecked, man, for weeks. While you were off playin’ house with Mr. Firefighter Calendar Coverboy, I had to pull myself out of that hole.”

“I- I’m really fucking sorry, Mickey.”

They were standing in front of the Milkovich residence, and Ian wasn’t even sure if he was welcome in now. 

“Eh, you can make it up to me. Gonna take a few years of dedication, but I figure you’re up for it.”

Mickey stretched out his hand, not a demand, but as an offer, inviting Ian into his house, his family, and his life. 

“I really am,” Ian affirmed, as Mickey led him up the stairs into the house. 

Mickey was home, it really was all that simple. 

\---

As they wove through the hallway, the bathroom door swung open, and the person who rushed out nearly knocked Ian over. Mickey looked on in amusement at the jumble of awkward limbs and red hair.

Once the two colliders had separated, Ian stood gaping at his younger sister. She wore a tee shirt, no bra, a pair of lacy panties, and dingy, slouchy socks that didn’t look like anything from the Gallagher household. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Debs?”

“Hey, Ian, Mickey. Good to see you.” Instead of answering Ian’s question, she gave the two a sharp nod and headed away down the hallway.

Iggy popped out of the bathroom as she left.

“Igs? What gives?” It was Mickey’s turn to be confused by a sibling.

“Guys! Together at last- got all your shit sorted?”

“Uh, I guess,” Ian replied, because what the fuck was going on here?

“Cool, cool. Woulda been real awkward if you hadn’t worked things out.” Seeing their blank stares, Iggy continued. “Awkward, with Debbie here, all the time? To see me?”

“Who the fuck wants to see you, Iggy?” Mickey asked skeptically.

“Iggy!” The familiar female voice called from another bedroom. “Get in here!”

“Gotta go,” Iggy dropped them a wink, leaving Ian and Mickey gaping at each other. 

“Those two?” Ian asked rhetorically.

“Guess he won’t be giving me any more shit about my firecrotch fetish,” Mickey mused.

“Fetish for redheads, you say? Tell me more…” Ian purred, and led Mickey into the familiar bedroom. 

\---

Mickey stood in the center of the predictably messy room, eyes distant.

“Everything okay?” Ian asked, clearly picking up on the shorter man’s body language.

“Yeah… it’s just…” Mickey began, then hesitated. “It’s been a while, didn’t think I’d ever get you back here. Again.”

They shared a look, an almost smile, just a softening of the eyes, before Ian told him seriously, “That’s okay, we can take it as slow as you need to.”

But Ian didn’t actually want to take things slow. There was something coursing through his veins, maybe new soulmate energy, or maybe just awesome pent up sexual tension for his months with Caleb, but he was definitely warm, fuzzy, a little drunk on Mickey, just enough so to give him the confidence he needs.

Mickey shook his head, dismissing the notion of ‘going slow.’ and grabbed Ian’s face between his hands, kissing him roughly. Ian’s hands moved to Mickey’s hip, holding on with a bruisingly tight grip. Not that it mattered — it’s not like anyone else would ever get to put their hands on Mickey like this again, ever. 

Before long Ian had to pull away so he could tug his boxers down, a little awkwardly, with Mickey pressed so close against him, but he still managed to maneuver himself out of them and throw them onto the ever-present pile of questionably-clean clothes by the side of the bed.

And then Mickey just… stopped.

“What the fuck?” Ian exclaimed, fear shooting through him. 

Mickey was staring down Ian’s cock. 

“Dude, your dick is fucking huge. ”

“That’s not news,” Ian quipped, which elicited a groan from Mickey and earned him a playful smack on his bare forearm.

“Yeah, but I think I convinced myself that my memory of how big you were was just a figment of my imagination or some shit.”

“You want me to put it away?” Ian was only half joking, as much as he wanted to fuck Mickey through the mattress, he also wanted Mickey to want him with the same level of-

“Shut up, or you’re not getting laid.”

_ Oh, ok, yeah, Mickey wanted him too. _

“Says the guy who just referred to me as ‘dude’ when we’re about to have sex,” Ian teased. And then, because he was feeling daring, he leaned in so his lips brushed against Mickey’s ear as he whispered hotly. “Don’t you want my big dick inside you?”

It was like a switch was flipped inside Mickey at Ian’s words, and Mickey groaned involuntarily. He very much did want Ian’s dick inside him, and they both knew it.

They were back to making out again, Mickey’s hands tangling in Ian’s curls as he rocked his hips down against the other man’s. Ian had one hand on Mickey’s hip and the other hand on one of his nipples, tweaking it occasionally and delighting in the whimpers it elicited from the shorter man’s mouth.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Ian whispered against the other man’s lips, his voice pitched slightly lower than usual. Mickey’s lips were red and swollen from their make-out session, his cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. He looked absolutely fucking shattered, and they’d barely gotten started. Mickey didn’t respond, obviously too concerned with grinding his crotch into Ian’s. The feeling of that thick cock sliding against him, despite the layer of fabric in the way, was almost enough to make his toes curl.

“You want more, Mick?” Ian asked, noticing the slight frustration registering on Mickey’s features. He knew this friction wasn't enough — he felt it too. Mickey nodded, almost too eagerly.

“So take your fuckin’ pants off already.”

Mickey groaned again, the sound sending a bolt of heat to Ian’s dick. He wasn’t at all sure if he was going to survive tonight.

\---

They’d switched positions — Mickey was now on his back with his head against the headboard, legs spread wide. Ian had started off between them but had quickly moved to lay by his side. The angle was a little awkward, but at least this way they could keep sporadically making out as Ian slowly and deliberately fingered Mickey open. 

The lube, which Ian had found in the nightstand beside the bed, ( _ the same bottle as last time he was here and Ian’s preferred brand of condoms, his mind noted _ ), was a little cool when it first made contact with his skin, but it soon warmed up. 

He’d already got two fingers inside Mickey, working him open as they make out. It was messy; even messier than the time they drunkenly made out in the bathroom at the bar. Ian nipped at Mickey’s lower lip as he pulled his fingers almost all the way out of his hole and Mickey whimpered into his mouth, frustrated by the sudden emptiness. 

“Don’t be a brat,” Ian chided, a third finger circling his rim. Mickey tried rocking back against Ian’s hand, desperate to get those clever fingers back inside him, but Ian wasn’t budging. 

“Greedy,” he smirked. 

“Shut up, you’re such—“ 

Ian cut off Mickey’s complaints by pressing three of his long fingers past the tight ring of muscle, crooking them just so, then laughing to himself at Mickey’s face of shock at the sudden fullness. 

“Ah— easy does it,” Mickey whined when Ian’s fingers were knuckles-deep inside him. 

Ian knew Mickey could have slept with a new guy every night of the week since they’d last been together, but the messages he could read in Mickey’s skin, in his muscles say otherwise. His ass feels just as amazing as the first time Ian fingered him, tight and hot, and there aren’t even any questionable bruises on his porcelain skin. 

He slowed his movements down until Mickey got used to the stretch. After a few seconds Mickey nodded, giving him the go ahead. Ian worked him open, occasionally curling his fingers and enjoying the high-pitched moan his actions tore from the other man’s throat.

“You’re… you’re still really fucking good at this,” Mickey panted.

“I just remember what you like,” Ian said, one corner of his mouth curling up into a smirk. “Been thinkin about it a lot, actually.”

Mickey sat up on his elbows, staring at Ian for a moment. “So fuckbag wasn’t doin it for ya?”

Ian had known this conversation was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. He stilled his fingers, and answered seriously. “Not really, no. He might have looked good, but-” He saw Mickey’s eyebrows draw down, and rushed to reassure him, “not as good as you, obviously.”

Mickey didn’t say anything, and Ian could feel a slight chill between them. 

_ Did his One really think anyone could be better for him? _

“Mickey. Your body is like- it’s like perfection, You have to know that. It’s like the universe looked into my head and put together a person made up of all the things I like.”

“Oh, so you like short guys with tummies?”

“No,” Ian gave him a light swat. “I like thick guys, bossy-ass bottoms with thighs for days, and those arms…” Ian let himself flop back on the bed for a moment, faking a swoon. Then he peeked, to see if Mickey was hearing what he was saying.

_ Almost _ .

“Your ass is incomparable, beyond what it does to my dick, I’d like a sculpture of it in my bedroom so I can kiss it goodnight every evening.”

“Ok, Gallagher, that’s a bit much.”

“It’s really not. When people look at Caleb, yeah, they might see a model-guy. But when I look at you,” He leaned back up, face close to Mickey, “I see the sun.”

Mickey gave him one of those eye-crinkling smiles, where Ian knew he was happy with his whole-ass heart, and it felt warm. He’d spend his whole life making sure Mickey knew how much he was lo- appreciated. 

“Obviously I’m smarter, too. More talented.” Mickey added.

“Obviously.” Ian echoed. “Plus he didn’t like any of this shit, not my fingers, not riding my face, and not my dick.”

“Idiot,” Mickey’s voice sounded oddly fond. “Your One could never  _ not  _ like your fingers.”

_ Game on. _

“Yeah, no kidding. I know that now.”

Ian bent down to add his tongue and lips to the mix, licking around Mickey’s balls and hole, deliberately skipping past his cock, which rose, hard and leaking to Mickey’s stomach.

“You like this?” Ian asked when he felt Mickey tighten around him. “I think I know something you’d like more.”

He thrust his fingers in and out of him lazily, until—

“Fuck!” Mickey all but yelped when Ian’s finger’s made another carefully calculated brush up against his prostate. “Holy fucking shit.”

Ian laughed but didn't say anything, sliding his fingers almost all the way out before pushing them back in and pressing against his prostate. Mickey arched his back so hard it lifted off the mattress.

“Christ, Gallagher” Mickey keened, biting down on his lower lip. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. ”

“Thought you’d like that,” Ian drawled. “Does it feel good?”

“So, so good…” Mickey babbled, voice a little hazy. Ian could feel the rush of power that Mickey’s responses always gave him.

“I could make you come just like this—”

Mickey just bit his lip, gnawing desperately as he waited to hear what Ian had in mind. 

“—But I think I’d rather make you wait. Want you to come while you’re riding on my dick.”

Mickey’s groan was one of arousal and frustration, and he rocked his hips back against Ian’s fingers in an attempt to satisfy the growing ache inside him. 

“Think you can take me now, Mick?” Ian teased.

“Yeah, yeah” Mickey said breathlessly, perhaps not entirely sure that was true, but up for the challenge.

“How’d you wanna do this? I can fuck you from here, or I can sit against the headboard and you can sit in my lap…”

“I don’t care,” Mickey said quickly. “Anything. Any way. I don’t care.”

Ian bit back a laugh at how eager the shorter man was, before he slowly pulled his fingers out of his hole, watching as it flexed and contracted prettily for him. Mickey whimpered at the sudden loss, looking at Ian through bright, sky blue eyes.

“Don’t give me that look,” Ian chuckled. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna get fucked good. Been saving all my best moves for you. ”

Ian moved up the bed to sit back against the headboard, wrapping a hand around his cock and pumping it lazily. Mickey sat up almost immediately, eyes fixed on Ian’s hand. 

“See something you like?” Ian asked airily, looking for more confirmation of Mickey’s attraction, but that hot stare- he can feel it on his skin, so fucking hot. “C’mere.”

Mickey did as suggested, moving to sit in Ian’s lap as the other man opened and pulled on the condom, squirted a generous amount of lube into his hand, and resumed stroking his cock. He continued this for a few moments, revelling in Mickey’s mounting frustration.

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m just gonna get myself off,” Mickey snapped. It was an empty threat, they both knew that, but it was enough to make Ian quirk an eyebrow.

“You’re so bossy, Mick,” he teased, before extending his finger and making a come here gesture at the shorter man. “Guess I gotta fuck you.”

Mickey responded immediately, hands on Ian’s shoulders as he lifted himself off the other man’s lap. Ian gripped his cock and lined it up against Mickey’s rim, the pressure causing both of them to gasp.

“Fuck…” Mickey said. 

Ian couldn’t find any words, just staring down to watch as he pressed the head of his cock into Mickey’s tight hole, already overwhelmed.

Mickey’s breath was hitching in his throat as Ian’s cock breached his rim, the flesh resisting, then relaxing.

“Shit, ” Mickey groaned out, clearly fighting the urge to close his eyes. The transfixed look on his face only served to amplify Ian’s arousal.

“You okay?”

“Mm,” Mickey nodded, his fingers gripping Ian’s shoulders tightly.    
Ian’s cock felt like it was throbbing with pressure, and the tight heat coiled in his stomach was making him desperate to drag Mickey down on his cock, desperate to fill him up properly. His legs were trembling with the effort of keeping himself from doing just that 

“More, fuckin- more,” the shorter man demanded in a broken voice, sliding one hand behind Ian’s neck.

Ian eased into him painfully slowly, inch by inch. He could barely even watch where their bodies joined, eyes squeezed shut as Mickey let out quiet curses and whines, slowly bringing his hips down to meet Ian’s movements. 

“Fuck, fuck…” he babbled. He was moving so slow that he was barely moving at all, but even that felt too much, like he could come at any moment. Mickey was clenching around Ian’s cock and the pressure was almost overwhelming and he honest to fucking god felt like he might just pass out there and then. 

Bringing himself back to the moment, he looked at Mickey carefully, studying his face for signs of pain. “You okay?” Ian asked, stilling his hips. Mickey opened his eyes and Ian could see more than lust in the blown pupils, he can nearly feel the emotional connection between them. It’s almost too tender for a moment like this. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” Mickey said hurriedly. “It’s just a lot. I’m fucking awesome.”

This was the confirmation Ian needed to continue, still incrementally rocking his hips up as he worked more of his cock into Mickey’s tight hole. 

He was horrified to feel tears pricking the corner of his eyes — the feeling of being with, in, surrounded by Mickey was so overwhelming ; he knew he’d never be satisfied by anyone else ever again, never have to see that pitiful pinched look on another man’s face.

“You don’t have to take it all if you can’t,” Ian said anxiously, not wanting to pressure Mickey. 

_ Maybe he should have prepped him more, or better, done more with his mouth. Mickey had liked that, last time... _

Mickey swatted him with one hand, a half-punch to the shoulder that said everything there was to say about Mickey not taking everything Ian had to give: body, mind, and soul.

Ian finally bottomed out and Mickey let out a long, shuddering breath, before opening his mouth to demand, “Fuckin’ give to me already, Gallagher!”

And Ian did. He had a moment to wonder if Mickey was actually ready for that or if he was just trying to prove a point about being better than Caleb, but before he had time to contemplate Mickey lifted his own hips up and sank back down onto Ian’s cock emphatically. Mickey was practically trembling all over from the effort and the need, but it was enough to drive Ian wild. 

“So fucking hot, Mick. Love it when you fuck yourself on my cock. You look so fucking good.”

If the way Mickey’s hole is clenching around his cock is any indication, the shorter man liked it too. 

“Oh, you like that?” he teased, unable to resist. “You like being stuffed full of my cock?”

Mickey just nodded, unable to form words. When he opened his mouth, the only thing that came out was a low whine. 

Ian never thought sex could be anything like this before Mickey, and now he knew he’d never be able to enjoy it any other way, never have to even try. 

Mickey tilted his hips at a different angle when Ian thrust in again, his cock pressing up against his prostate. This time, forming words seemed to come easier to him. 

“Fucking hell!” he exclaimed, clenching around Ian’s cock, spurring Ian on to stay at that angle so he could brush past Mickey’s prostate with every firm thrust in and out. Ian reached one long arm down, touching Mickey’s hole where it was stretched around his cock, pressing gently. 

Mickey was completely fucking wrecked, all he could do was loll his head back and make short, sharp gasping sounds as he rocked his hips down, working Ian’s cock in and out of his tight hole so enthusiastically it was driving him wild. Ian didn’t mind letting Mickey do most of the work, holding onto Mickey’s hips and rocking up against him. He loved seeing him fall apart, watching those cheeks flush and his lashes flutter shut as Mickey focused on the internal sensations.

Mickey’s pace was brisk, but Ian wanted more. He knew Mickey was ready, so he braced his feet flat on the bed and began to thrust up, meeting Mickey’s ass as he slid down, the thwack of their flesh echoing through the bedroom. He must have kept the right angle, because Mickey’s eyes flew open, his mouth in a perfect O, before he pulled Ian in for a sloppy kiss, grinding down in his lap. 

Ian repeated the motion to the best of his ability, and nearly got his tongue bitten off as Mickey leaned away from his face, whining through gritted teeth, “Right there.” Mickey’s fingers dug into Ian’s skin so hard that the skin underneath his nails was starting to turn white. It stung, but Ian didn’t say anything, reveling in the marks Mickey was leaving on him. 

“Yeah?” the taller man asked. “You like this, Mick? Fucking take it.” 

He punctuated the words with three quick thrusts, which earned another moan from Mickey. 

“C’mon, firecrotch,” Mickey panted out in breaths punched from his gut by Ian’s thrusts, “Give it to me good, I can take it.”

“You can take it, Mick,” Ian agreed, babbling as he thrust up into Mickey. The shorter man was only able to make stuttering noises as he pounded into him relentlessly, the sounds of his desperate gasps and the slapping of skin filling the room.

Mickey, determined not to just sit there and take it, rocked his hips down against Ian’s cock as best he could but he was no match for the pace of Ian’s thrusts or Ian’s leverage. He could tell the other man was getting close from the irregularity of his movements; the way his hips began to stutter as he fucked up into him. 

“Close, baby…” Ian managed through gritted teeth, but Mickey seemed too far gone to respond. “Wanna come inside you. Wanna fill you up.” 

That was enough to make Mickey tighten around him again, his own neglected cock dribbling out a spurt of precum on his stomach. 

“Touch me…” Mickey pled, bouncing on Ian’s cock like he was made to do just that. Ian’s mind was hazy with lust, but he was still bound and determined to make sure Mickey came before he did, so he wrapped a big hand around Mickey’s red cock and began stroking him in time with his thrusts. 

“So good… Ian, you make me feel so fucking good…” Mickey babbled. “Gonna come so hard…”

“Come for me,” Ian said, trying for a note of command in his tone. Effective or not, it seemed to drive Mickey wild and in a matter of moments he was coming hard in ropes that splattered against his chest and dripped from his cock down onto Ian’s hand. 

Mickey shuddered involuntarily through the aftershocks of his orgasm, low moans coming from his open mouth as he gazed up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. Ian watched Mickey intently as he chased his own orgasm in a few quick, sharp thrusts, gripping Mickey’s hips as he came. It was hot and wet and absolutely filthy, feeling the cum squelch around inside the condom as Mickey clenched with aftershocks.

Mickey slumped forward so his head was resting on Ian’s shoulder, the feeling of their clammy chests mixing with Mickey’s cum cooling quickly. 

“Holy fucking shit ,” Mickey said when he was finally able to form words again.

“Yeah,” came Ian’s response, not quite capable of stringing together full sentences yet. 

“You’re fucking incredible,” Ian said once he remembers how to, knowing he sounded wrecked in the very best way.

“Your cock is incredible,” was Mickey’s almost immediate response, deadly serious to the point where Ian couldn’t help but to chuckle. 

\---

Later, after a second round, they lay exhausted in the sweaty, messy sheets, Mickey draped half on top of Ian’s chest.

Something had been on Ian’s mind for a while, and even though he was physically exhausted, heart full, his mind was still whirling about the events of the day. 

“ Do you ever think about topping?”

Mickey frowned; Ian couldn’t see his face but he could just  _ feel  _ that look on Mickey’s face against his chest. 

“Fuck, no- why would I want that?” He paused, and Ian was about to try to explain, when he continued. “Wait, do  _ you  _ want that?” Mickey pushed up, peering at Ian’s face in the dimly lit bedroom, the late afternoon rays coming in through the curtains.

“No!” Ian hurriedly exclaimed. “I just - Caleb- and I- if you wanted to, I would. That’s all I’m saying. If you, like, needed a break from my dick sometime. I would.”

“Well, fuck off with that shit. I ain’t ready to give up your dick in my ass quite yet.” Mickey was scowling but he pressed closer to Ian’s face, dropping a small kiss on his lips that belied the harshness of his tone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is an epilogue to this story, but it's not done.  
> It might take me a few days, or it might be up tomorrow.  
> This story- guys, it's been in my heart for months.  
> I think I did it justice, I hope I did.  
> 31 days of daily chapters, even if they were tiny, when my real life has been chaos and hell? A miracle.  
> My reader says it's anxiety writing as a coping mechanism, and she's probably right.  
> Every day, waking up to hits and comments, trickling in through the day? It has meant everything to me.  
> WhatICameHereFor, Kfritz7162, HarlotinDistress, J_Q, TenderWeFall, PEPPASPICE!!!, Britney1here, and everyone else- Thank you.  
> Thank you so much.  
> Oh and there will be sequel, because there are quite a few moments I have written from Mickey's POV that didn't fit into this story, but that need to be seen and read.


	32. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the story. For now.

  
It was late November, and the Gallagher’s were having a small bonfire one evening. They were burning dead leaves and old newspapers in the early darkness, the scent of burning wood filling the air.

Frank was passed out on top of a pile of debris, and Carl had helpfully rolled his body a few feet away from the fire pit, making sure he didn’t meet a fiery demise on this night. Monica was in the wind, as per usual. No one had expected her, so no one missed her. 

Fiona and Jimmy were sharing one rickety plastic lawn chair, her legs splayed across his lap. He held her tightly, nuzzling into her neck as they shared quiet words and a few moments of laughter. She was his light in dark times, and he was her hope.

Carl and Steph stood at the edge of the firepit, roasting marshmallows on long sticks. Their first efforts had turned into burning balls of sugar that they then tried to fake-sword fight with, which every sane adult protested. Now they were behaving more sedately, but everyone knew they were destined to cause more trouble: tonight, tomorrow, and likely forever.

Out of the darkness of the street came two small figures, holding hands. It took a moment for the gathered crowd to be able to see who it was, but then the welcome cries began. Shyly, Liam held the hand of a pretty girl. She had a half a head of height on him, but that was ok. There was plenty of time for them.

Lip was crouched on the grass, holding Freddie’s little hands, helping him toddle to Tammi. The kid was so close to his first steps, and Tammi had the camera ready to commemorate the moment, even if she kept complaining about how bad the lighting was from the fire. She kept casting worried glances at the fire, even though Lip and Freddie were a dozen or more feet away. Lip understood the worry, the desperate need to protect those you loved. He felt it too, all the time, for his siblings, his wife, and especially their son.

In a more casual display of affection, Debbie had Iggy corralled on the back steps, seemingly intent on sucking his face off. Given that his hands held full grips of her ass, Iggy didn’t appear to mind the situation. Iggy had no intention of getting a TiMER anytime soon, so he claimed, but Ian thought he’d change his mind. Mickey didn’t think so, or perhaps he just didn’t want his brother to have to deal with the emotional upheaval he’d so recently survived.

They discussed it, their siblings and the future, late at night, heads on the same pillow, facing each other and whispering in the darkness. In the present, Ian had laid out a blanket, and was sitting with Mickey draped across his legs. Ian was sipping hot cocoa, and Mickey had a cold beer, despite the chill in the air. Their shit-talking was interrupted by frequent kisses, which seemed to devolve into arguments again, only to be soothed by lips and tongues.

\---

Home isn’t a place. Or it doesn’t have to be. A scrappy, tattooed south-side thug could be the most important person in the world, to his soulmate. Home can be a feeling, a smell, a memory. Home can be a promise, or a curse, but everyone comes from somewhere, and we’re all looking for something.

Ian knew that he could have saved himself pain by recognizing what Mickey was to him sooner. But would Ian have been able to accept Mickey’s love, without the proof the TiMER offered? Maybe not right away, but eventually… he hoped he would have gotten there. 

Would Mickey ever have accepted his fate, or found love, without Ian? Would he have continued to be a wisp-o-the-wind, drifting from hobby to hobby, casual partner to casual partner, superficially content, but emotionally void? He didn’t like to think about that, what could have been, if they’d both been too stubborn to see what was right in front of them. What the universe had dropped into their unsuspecting laps: Love. 

Nothing else made the world make sense, unless it was them, united, facing the world. He hoped that in every version of their world a thousand Ian’s loved a thousand Mickey’s, having every conceivable happiness, going through every possible challenge, together. 

\---

It was another night at Debbie’s bar, and Ian was sipping a Sprite, waiting for Mickey to come onstage. Mickey had made Ian promise, swear up and down on a stack of bibles that he’d come tonight, be on time, be paying attention. 

Then of course he’d gotten Ian out of his pants, kneeling down and blowing him with such enthusiasm that Ian was left sweaty and woozy, in need of another shower. Mickey had dashed off to soundcheck, still sporting a fresh hickey on his collarbone, and Ian had been left to shower alone.

The lights dimmed, and Mickey stepped up to the mike, browsing the audience until he caught Ian’s gaze, eyes crinkling slightly. 

“Hey listen up everybody, we got a little special thing I’d like to do tonight, play a little song for you, about the hottest, stubbornest, biggest sex god I know, Ian.”

The crowd roared and whooped, and Ian blushed right down to his nipples, confused. 

_ Why was Mickey putting him on blast like this, even if it was still pretty flattering? _

“This one’s for you Gallagher, happy anniversary.”

[ **Caleb Doesn’t Know as performed by Mickey and The Milkmen** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Vyj1C8ogtE) **_(song originally recorded by Lustra as Scotty Doesn’t Know)_ **

_ Caleb doesn’t know that Ian and me _

_ Do it at my place every Sunday _

_ He tells him he's at work but _

_ He doesn’t go _

_ Still I’m on my knees and _

_ Caleb doesn’t know _

_ Oh Caleb doesn’t know oh _

_ So don't tell Caleb  _

_ Caleb doesn’t know _

_ Caleb doesn’t know _

_ (So don't tell Caleb !) _

_ Ian says he's out shoppin' _

_ But he's in me toppin’  _

_ And he’s not stoppin' 'cause _

_ Caleb doesn't know _

_ So don't tell Caleb  _

_ Caleb doesn't know oh _

_ (Don't tell Caleb!) _

_ I can't believe he's so trustin' _

_ While you’re right behind me thrustin' _

_ We'll put on a show _

_ Everyone'll go _

_ The parking lot, why not _

_ It's so cool when you're on top _

_ Caleb doesn't know _

_ Caleb doesn't know _

_ Caleb doesn't know oh... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did all my thank you's in Ch 31, but as a reminder, this fic WILL have a follow-up where we see exactly what Mickey's thought processes were in key moments.  
> Up next from NotHereNJ?  
> Whumptober2020. A series of unrelated short scenes on a variety of seasonal prompts. (Some spooky, some fluffy.)  
> And I'll likely get back to Love, Guaranteed.  
> AND By and By 2.0 is a go.  
> The list goes on forever. I am always looking for new prompts and ideas.  
> So this is an ending, and a beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey if you know the movie, know that this won't go how you expect. I'm trying to make it fun for people who don't know the movie either.  
> (Everyone should watch the movie.)


End file.
